


The bond of Alpha and Omega

by kinkmerighthererightnow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, And they often spoil too much, Angst, Belly Kink, Developing Relationship, Discussions of mpreg, Dom!Sherlock, I don't know, I repeat, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying to keep the tags up to date, Kidnapping, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Role Reversal, So learn to live with me not giving you the whole story in the tags, Still, Unpresented (Omega) Sherlock, actual mpreg, bottom!Alpha, but I'm failing horribly, chapter 16, developing plot, how often will i tag mpreg?, in chapter 16 only, it's there and I need to give the warning, just so you know, mentions of complications, mentions of mpreg, mild feeding kink, rather pwp I admit, reversed roles, top!Omega, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 70,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkmerighthererightnow/pseuds/kinkmerighthererightnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It worked well. Better, than anyone had ever expected. Everything went so well. And then it happened. Of course, it had to happen.<br/>(Warning for rape: Note it appears in one chapter only. The rest (appart from the situation surrounding it) is to be fluffy as pregnancy can be. The chapter has its own warning, you could skip it, if you liked)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, yeah. I'm new here. My first crack at this verse. I originally planned this as the one-shot it is at the moment, but little plot bunny tells me I've got fantasy. Question is: Do I keep that fantasy to myself or will I share with you guys? In any case, you'd have to tell me whether or not you want more of this from me. I'll give the warning in advance, however! This has mentions of mpreg - additional chapters would therefore (quite kinkily) circle 'round more and I mean !really! mpreg, not the "oh, I'm having a child, but let's by all means not mention that any further". It would be concerning pregnancy. We would talk, and I mean !talk! about Sherlock being pregnant and John dealing with that the way I, and I repeat !I!, like it, which would make itself known in the tags, had it come to it. That, anyway, depends entirely on you folks - I don't have any problem with keeping it to myself, y'know ;)  
> I guess that's it for now, though. Just enjoy this (for now) one-shot and tell me afterwards, if you want me to elaborate on this fiction in more chapters.  
> Keep cool ( at least you might be able to ;) )

It worked well. Better, than anyone had ever expected. To Sherlock's great surprise and fondness even better than he could have imagined asked believe him, he had a lot of imagination in that field. About three hundred ways for things to go wrong and for him to be left alone immediately would come up to his mind, if you asked him right this second. But, miraculously so, it didn't.  
Everything went fine, better than fine.  
It worked so very, incredibly well, that he did not even mind his unresolved feelings for this situation, for John.  
He did not mind.  
He did not care.  
Not a second.  
His whole day was just brought and complete when John gave just one of his honest smiled. The rare ones that barely touched the corners of his mouth, but left that highly glittering glint in his amazing eyes. Yes, Sherlock knew what he sounded like. He was the same dull, romantic, hopelessly fallen creature every lovesick person turned out to be. He didn't mind he had reason to be. He had John. Beautiful John. He would create and dedicate entire rooms in his mind palace just for the wrinkles on John's pretty face, the stories they told. John gave him the wonderful opportunity to never grow tired. Even if he were ever done analysing and deducing every freckle on John's body, he still had the many surprises John gave to him:

reactions he had neither expected nor predicted because they were not what everyone else would do, stories he never told, just every so often hinted at subconsciously, habits he kept and changed all the time they lived together. It had been over a year now. John and him living together.

John didn't mind his attitude. John didn't mind his habits. Well, at least not honestly. The curses and rows were no complaining per se and he knew because at the end of the day, John always came back.

John didn't mind his job. John didn't mind the danger. He loved it, in fact. What he hated was the extra work he had put on himself by taking that job at the clinic. He was more a soldier than a doctor after all. Mundane didn't suit him.

John didn't mind Sherlock's gender.

Most people were too confused or didn't know how to behave around him. This made John more special than anything or anyone else. People saw it as a disability and John literally just didn't care. If he was to be friends with a 3-years-old Unpresented, than so be it, he thought to himself. He wasn't confused by Sherlock not smelling of anything other than his body wash. He smiled at him nonetheless, treated him like any other likeable person.

 

Everything went so well.

 

And then it happened. Of course, it had to happen. It was more of his luck it hadn't happened for over a year.

Today was the day. It was the day he would lose John. The day his whole world would fall to ashes. And he realised it too late. Had he known sooner, he could have done... _something_ , but he had just been too careless, too ignorant, too sure of the wrong truth. And that's what it had gotten him into now.

There he was, sitting in his chair like any other day, feeling unusually warm, despite the chilling autumn weather, the heaters still cold at this time of year.

There he was, musing about the discomfort in his abdomen that didn't fit the feeling of any sickness he knew.

There he was, suddenly realising and feeling ashamed, humiliated, by the first wet gush he felt leaking out of the one place he had never expected to feel so needy for attention about.

There he was, slowly curling up further and further the more painful his cramps got and knocked the air out of his lungs.

There he was, earning a strangely concerned look from John, sitting right there in front of him.

 

John leaned forward, standing up and approaching him over the one foot distance. “Sherlock, are you al-... Jeeeesus!” he breathed, swaying in his step even though it was the only one he needed to take. His scent was released, then.

 

“John,” _stay away from me_ , he wanted to say and never could because he simply couldn't fight the intense pain in his abdomen and the intense longing of his backside right now.

 

“Bloody hell, why did you never tell me you were an Omega?!” John asked breathlessly. Sherlock could only imagine the severe impact the smell of an Omega in heat would have on the Alpha right now.

 

Trying to level his breathing, Sherlock pressed out his reply. “I never presented!” He was drawing up his legs onto the seat of his chair now, an attempt to hide his body from the world and, most importantly, from John.

 

“What do you mean, you never presented?” John asked and Sherlock swore he heard the shock in his voice.

 

“I just never did. We assumed- assumed I was genderless. Why did you think I had no smell on me?”

 

“I thought you just covered it up. I thought you were an Alpha, or at least a Beta.” John sounded panicky. Panicky was not good. It made himself panic – the Omega reacting to the emotions of the nearby Alpha and if an Alpha panicked, it meant there was danger. An Omega in heat couldn't handle danger.

 

Stupid biology – the only danger here was Sherlock shooting himself for this scene in front of John. “Why would I cover my scent if I was a Beta?!”

 

“I don't know!” John's voice had turned into an alarmed shouting. Sherlock heard him take calming breaths. Shaky calming breaths. “Jesus, just- your smell!”

 

“Well, it would make sense, wouldn't it?”

 

“What would?”

 

“I'm in _heat_!”

 

“Sherlock, I've been around Omegas in heat. It never was so.. intense.”

 

“I'm in my first heat ever, John. After 33 years of subconscious Omega gender identity, I guess it is only logical it would be... 'intense'.”

 

John tried to breath, tried not to focus on Sherlock smelling probably like a ripe 'come-and-breed-me-Alpha”-fruit.“Fucking Christ.. I can't think!”

 

“John...”Sherlock moaned and tried to immediately forget he had just moaned John's name in front of John.

 

“I just want to fuck you so badly..” John stated and he apparently knew how he sounded because there was a hateful note in the way he said it. He was losing control. John didn't like to lose control.

 

“Right now, I would be more than obliged to submit to that.”

 

“Because you're in heat!”

 

Lie. Lie! He misinterpreted the 'obliged', didn't he? Sherlock wouldn't submit just because he was in heat! Stupid John. “You don't _have_ to remind me, you know? These cramps make it very hard not to realissssssssse..” he hissed at the next contraction.

“This is so humiliating...” he said, covering his face with a hand as he rolled onto his side, calves pressed to his thighs so strongly, his feet covered the dampening seat of his trousers.

 

John took another deep breath, attempting to calm himself, while it only made his erection more painful. “It's not humiliating, Sherlock, there's nothing to be ashamed of-”

 

“My after is behaving like a waterfall, John!” Sherlock snapped back, then mewled in realisation he had behaved badly around his Alpha- _his_ Alpha?! What the hell was he thinking?! He was clearly losing it.

 

John, in response, dedicated his whole attention to suppress a groan that moment. He knelt down in front of Sherlock, so close to the source of that unbelievably intoxicating smell- but he must resist. Sherlock was his friend. Sherlock trusted him.

Sherlock wanted to slap John for not taking him and easing the intensity of his condition right now.

“Sherlock, look at me.”

 

Sherlock didn't even think of looking at the other man like he was. He turned his face into the cushions to hide the screwed up expression his broken mask had left behind.

 

“Sherlock, please.”

 

Why, John, why was it so important to look at him right now?! What could possibly be so very urgent that he needed to see his face?! Did he want to humiliate him even more, make fun of him? Take pictures and send them to everyone he knew?

 

He had no choice, however, when John reached around the legs shaking from the clenching muscles? Or simply from the very fact Sherlock was in heat and his body was trying to arrange itself to that?

He didn't speak and would probably say no word until Sherlock opened his eyes, so after a long time of hope that John would drop the issue, he opened them, looking straight into John's usually so grey-blue eyes and finding them darkened by his wide-blown pupils.

They were soft, much softer than Sherlock had thought capable of an Alpha faced with an Omega in heat, possibly inches of self-control away from falling into rut. They were soft and warm and loving- alright, maybe it was just his hormonally overdosed brain projecting those features into John's eyes because he longed to find them there.

 

However, when John spoke, it was with a voice unusually deep, but no less soft than when he was proud of Sherlock's deductions or when he's done something socially adequate. “Sherlock, I want you to know, that you needn't feel either humiliated nor, in any way, guilty, alright? I know-”

 

“No, you don't!”

 

“Let me finish. I know this must be way off anything you expected for your life, especially with it coming so very late-”

 

“John, I neither want nor need your standard 'frightened-Omega-in-first-heat'-speech.”

 

“Let. Me. Finish. I, of course, can only try to imagine how you feel in your skin right now, but I assure you I do _not_ think any less of you, okay? You are still my best friend and the most amazing person I have ever had the great fortune to meet. If there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”

 

Madly enough, John's words seemed to sooth some disturbed part of his mind. Ridiculous biology an Omega has. “Right now, I'd like you to copulate with me”

 

John, surprisingly, had a small, empathetic, yet longing smile on his face and briefly, instinctively gives one of Sherlock's shins a small caress. “No, I don't think that's an appropriate idea. I will, however, see to getting you something to help yourself with, if you'd like?”

 

“No! No, that is unacceptable, worst of all options presenting themselves. I will not lower myself to that level of humiliation!”

 

“Are you sure, Sherlock? It's likely going to get worse with the longing.. especially with your first heat.. You'll probably curse yourself at some point for having refused to take the help – I've seen it happen, really.”

 

“John, read my lips: I will _not_ thrust a silicone-based, penis-shaped... thing up my arse!”

 

John just looked at him sympathetically. “I understand.” John replied softly, giving his shin one last rub before forcing his hand to leave the Omega's body. “Anything else I can do?”

 

Sherlock shook his head without thought. Well, thinking became harder and harder as it was. His superior mind was all that was keeping him as mildly sane as he was at the moment, he reckoned, John's delicious Alpha scent did nothing to help him. Oh, John. Lovely, strong, oblivious John. How he wanted to have the man right now. Just thinking about John taking him, filling that craving in his abdomen – god, his hole was leaking like a river into the great ocean. He couldn't stop the longing whine escaping his throat. “Just go away, please.” he breathed, a blush creeping up his cheeks. This loss of control, he couldn't take it, couldn't let John see him in such a state.

 

John, luckily, nodded and got up, turning to pick up his laptop and make his way up to his room when he turns around. “You might want to be in your room for this.. I don't think you'd appreciate someone else walking in on you in this condition, much less a random Alpha from the street, smelling, god, _smelling_ you.”

 

Sherlock tryingly moved to sit straight, feeling his wet arse cheeks slick against each other, the sheer idea making him feel sick and he went back to his foetal position in the small seat of the chair, shaking his head. “I can't.” he admitted. This was so beneath him. And the noise-forcing sensations of various kinds made him want to fall into a bottomless pit in the ground.

John, always the expectation-defying man, approached him again and gently forced his arms around Sherlock's body. “John, what are you doing?! No, don't, please, don't! Just go upstairs and I'll see a way to get to my room, just please, do not strain your back to carry me and risk losing control.

 

John didn't listen, though, he seemed keen to doing something he would later highly regret.

But when John lay Sherlock down in his bed, he did nothing about his painfully obvious erection that Sherlock didn't seem able to take his eyes from. It made the impression of being so big and wonderful and perfect to fill him up entirely and knot him and give him loads and loads of children and he didn't know how and when it happened, but he was suddenly drowning in the strong scent radiating from the crotch he was pressing his face into.

He hears and _feels_ John shudder under this straight forward attempt to win the appreciated Alpha for himself. “Sherlock, stick to your mind, please.”

 

Sherlock heard his words, but he couldn't make any sense of them. His brain was shut down and he felt as if he was dreaming, far away from reality. Surely this must be a beautifully pleasant dream. He was vaguely pawing at the band of John's trousers, his fingers finally figuring out how to open zip and flies on these bloody jeans. He made a small keening noise as John's brief-clad erection sprang free and he realised just _how big_ an Alpha's cock was.

 

“Sherlock. Stop. Please. You'll regret it later.” John was trying to get him off of himself. Why did he so desperately want to get rid of him?! Was he not an adequate mating partner? Had he done something wrong? Disobey any rules? Why did John, his beautiful John, not want him? Was he not good enough? If so, how could he become good enough to please John?

 

Was it that? Did he have to please him first, prove capable of dealing with his body? If so, he would.  
He opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue and drew it up the wide, hard shaft to meet with the wet spot on the smooth cotton where John's leaked his pre-come. It was good, apparently. John finally thought him worthy.

Pieces of clothing landing on the floor, John's hot, sweaty body pressed everywhere on top of him, making him feel wonderful, even though his own body seemed already above advisable temperature. But then there was this hot, incredibly hard part of John, driving him crazy just so as it pressed against his pelvis, right next to his own member, again and again as John started rutting against him. John was panting heavily against his collarbone between nibs and licks and, god, his moans. Slowly, John slid down, kissing his way over Sherlock's belly in a burning line until he met with his penis, marvelling at the size of it – bigger than the ordinary Omega cock; longer and wider. No wonder Sherlock had simply assumed he was genderless, what with the lack of hints he could either be Omega or Alpha, since his member's size was somewhere between both, but still without the scent of a Beta.

There was no chance John had only ever been with female Omegas – the way of expertise with which he treated his aching cock, kissing his head, licking down to the shaft with just the tip of his tongue, licking back up with the entire width of it before enveloping it with his lips an dipping down slowly, taking him almost all the way in, making Sherlock's pelvis snap upwards in confusion of ancient male instinct of trying get his penis into a fertile hole, conflicting with ancient Omega instinct of grinding against simply anything that might sooth the incredibly painful itch of having to have something up his bloody arse.

And suddenly there was John's hand on its way to his backside, a finger pressing in as a test and John's keen noise, vibrating through his cock, causing him to thrust up again, was drowned out by Sherlock's own soft cry at finally feeling _something_ down there. He was so far gone; too far, in fact, to even be repelled by this disgusting craving of being infiltrated by another person's genitalia, like he always had been with other people. Right now, that seemed simply marvellous, most desirable.

As, in heat, the ring of muscle was already naturally loosened, John very soon pushed in another finger, giving Sherlock that beautiful, _beautiful_ pain of being stretched ever so slightly. With his legs bend, feet pressed flat to the mattress, he ground down on the fingers inside him desperately.

Despite all the craving and longing and demanding to be filled, his cock was so painfully hard and desperate for touch, he slid his hand over his hip to his prick realising that John still had his mouth on it. He whined pathetically, the realisation of not getting any satisfaction as it was making him feel ever so lost.

John seemed to understand: he pushed in a third finger, giving a hard suck on Sherlock's cock, leading him to his first, hardly satisfying, orgasm that had his back arching, his head and heels pushing into the mattress, face screwed up and John sucking in all of the ejaculate he could take.

In a way to assure himself, John tried pushing in a fourth finger into Sherlock, feeling the light resistance, but it was no measure to make him stop.

He withdrew his hand, Sherlock protested.

He couldn't resist any longer, Sherlock waited.

John lined up, leaning over Sherlock's quivering form, holding himself up by his hands on either side of Sherlock's shoulders and glared down into the pleading eyes of the most brilliant man falling apart right then and there. He finally pushed in, a fresh wave of sweat, and natural lubricant, broke out on Sherlock, his lungs forgot how to work for a second. There was something in John's eyes as he stared down into the widely opened ones of Sherlock, something Sherlock had never seen or maybe just never noticed as such in John before – maybe it were the hormones sharpening his senses for the Alpha, maybe it was simply an Omega thing.

The longer John held still inside him, the more impatient he got; the more afraid, John might pull out, he got; the more, let's be straight, panicky he got.

And there it was. John's tender, demanding lips sealing his mouth. By the time John started gently thrust his hips forward, Sherlock was gone and done for, even in his heat-addled mind he recognised this was more than he had ever dreamed of. He didn't know which part of him was most served right now – his instinct or his heart.

The next two and a half minutes were indescribable, heavenly, soft animalistic moans resonating in his mouth, John's voice ringing through his entire body, his long and wide girth stretching him in the best way possible. It was driving him insane, the infinite pleasure and yet not reaching the peak, lingering right there on the verge of what seemed promising to be the most amazing sensation of his life, John teasing him, keeping him there even as he could feel the light swell of John's knot right there, pushing against the rim, but never in.

John's hands were gripping the bed sheets violently now, his hips faltering in their pace, stuttering and moving more brutally, his breath coming sharp and he had to pull away from Sherlock in order to keep his oxygen level adequate, his eyes clenched shut and Sherlock thought he looked like he was trying madly to hold back from just knotting him, bringing them both to the inevitable high.

Just when he brushed in again, stroking what must have been his prostate, releasing a brand new spark of spiking pleasure, giving Sherlock the one peak that he had missed in the stimulation of his cock as it stretched out into his tip, he orgasmed again, more powerful, but with just as little satisfaction as before.

This seemed to do it for John, he pushed in, being locked safely by his rapidly inflating knot before he could pull out again, keeping Sherlock over the edge, but more adequately this time, bliss and an almost unconsciousness taking him away for what felt like the most wonderful idea of eternity, vaguely noticing the beautifully reassuring weight resting on his body.

 

Slowly, really slowly, he caught the sound of loud breathing, panting really, ringing in his ear and his after felt ready to rip being stretched so widely, but he wouldn't let go of that pain for any price the world was worth.

 

 

The next thing Sherlock consciously noted, was waking up with a dizzy feeling and a frizzy sight. He's lightly nauseous. He didn't know why. He didn't remember eating something bad, he didn't remember eating at all for that fact, so what could have gotten him into such a state so quickly? He closed his eyes against the dizziness and tried to focus on what he could remember.

 

 

 

 

Oh..

OH!

 

His eyes snapped open, he hardly dared to turn his head to the side, finally having the sound of soft snoring reach his ears. As his careful gaze at last took in the sight of John... Did John-? Had he-? Oh, god, he didn't-!? Sherlock reached a trying hand towards his neck, brushing over every inch of skin he could reach. Nothing. He sighed his relief.

 

So, no bite. That, at least was good.

Now, the only things he had to worry about were, that he had fallen into heat. His first heat ever. At age 33. He had pulled John with him, without the slightest intention of doing so. John would be mad, really mad. John was strong and controlled and he had dragged him into a hormone-driven frenzy with a man – less appreciatively, with himself.

No.  
no, no, no, no, no!

NO!  
Chances were, he had already conceived. He couldn't- could he?! He mustn't have! John wouldn't like that, not at all. John would shout at him for having made him a father unprepared!

The worst in all this was: He was feeling it all start anew already.

 

Next to him, the Alpha stirred, smacking his lips as he came awake slowly. He was unfairly adorable like this – not, that, to Sherlock, he wasn't in just any other situation anyway. And strike him lightning if John wasn't just the sweetest human being when he turned around drowsily, looked at Sherlock with an uncomprehending frown and, obliviously, ignored it in favour of waking up completely.

 

When he did wake up, however, shock and exasperation were written all over his face. “Jesus Christ! Oh, god- did I-?! Sherlock, was I-?! Fuck- FUCK! I'm so sorry- I'm so bloody sorry!”

 

There must have been a look on Sherlock's face, that he wasn't aware of himself, but in John it had certainly triggered a very, very guilty feeling. “Calm down, John, it's not your fault. It... It was me, I do apologise, and I realise this must be a rather compromising circumstance for you, but I assure you, I would never tell a soul. This is entirely my fault-”

 

“No, Sherlock, don't come at me like that! You're in heat, there is no way this could be your fault! And anyway, _I_ am the one who's supposed to keep control even in such a situation, which I didn't. I am indescribably sorry! Know, that I did not just use you, never wanted to! It's just- you were smelling so-... I lost it. I'm so, so sorry!”

 

“John-” Sherlock started, but stopped to close his eyes as his body shook with a new wave of heat and arousal. “John, if anything, it would have been my duty to inform you about my approaching heat-”

 

“You didn't know! You've never had a heat before, I've never heard of an Omega being aware of an approaching first heat when it does. This is so not your fault!”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath with his eyes closed, trying to keep his focus as his body sent his mind further and further into 'not-so-much-needed-here'-state. “As lovely as this talk is going and as much as I appreciate you trying to be reassuring, I think you might want to leave now, it's starting up again, quite rapidly so, and I can't guarantee any long amount of time left of my rational mind being present.” John, visibly took note of Sherlock's quickening breath and the way he licked his lips, not able to stop himself from doing so.

If it wasn't for John's scent.. not the ordinary Alpha-tone, no, John's personal, individual scent, the one he could already barely resist as an Unpresented, the one he'd breathed in as deeply as he could, without being noticed, whenever John was near him. One can't even imagine just what it does to him at the moment – lust-driven, desperate for sexual attention, needing an Alpha he could trust, favourably the one he was deeply emotionally bonded to already, requited or not.

 

The Alpha was way over the hill, too affected by the strong omega hormones because he didn't leave, as suggested, but instead moved even closer, slinging an arm around Sherlock's body and leaned his face against his chest. “I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable with this, Sherlock, but there's no way I'd leave you now. I can't, for two reasons, leave you. First: you're in heat, the first one ever. Your body has noted there is an Alpha and that Alpha has already taken care of you. Leaving you, an inexperienced, might cause impact on your psychology, whether you think that possible right now or not, but things like severe trust-issues could evolve up to depression with the dominant symptom of feeling unwanted and guilty for basically anything that's not your fault at all.

The other reason is, that my body has noted there is an Omega in heat, which it has already tended to once. If I go, my body would seek you out again because I'm trimmed to taking care of you right now and I might either go out and rape any Omega that smells even the least bit of heat or I'll, too, develop psychological deficiencies because my Alpha nature thinks me incapable of fulfilling my duties, acting on instinct and tending to Omegas.

If I leave you, Sherlock, this won't go well for either of us..”

 

“Stupid biology! Humans are much too complicated for their own good!” Sherlock huffed shakily. “So.. you will be spending my entire heat with me?”

 

“Unless you absolutely don't want me to, yes, I will.” John replied, placing a kiss where his mouth was touching Sherlock's skin, only then finding that he very much liked kissing Sherlock's chest and therefore continued doing so, kissing and nipping along the pale flesh until settling for one of the sensitive rosy buds.

 

Sherlock's head fell back onto the bed as a shuddering gasp escaped him, his cock waving John 'hello'.

 

Again, there wasn't much he remembered other than being guided to his hands and knees gently, carrying John's weight as he draped himself over the taller body and the magnificent feeling of fullness, of John pounding into him without restrained, but so, so very softly, that Sherlock supposed he merely imagined it being like this – caring, loving.

 

Next time he woke, it was to movement on the mattress. He blinked his eyes open to see John kneeling down beside him, stark naked, half-hard and beautiful as fuck, quite literally so. When John saw Sherlock awake, he turned around and grabbed for a tray loaded with sandwiches and drinks. So, he had been up to prepare nutrition. “How're you feeling? Hungry, I hope.” he asked softly, looking down at the ridiculous amount of food he had brought and smirking at his own overly careful attitude.

 

“'m fine. Could use some food, though, yes.” Sherlock simply answered, propping himself up on his elbows before pushing into a sitting position, back against headboard. He grabbed one of the sandwiches, white bread, bit of salad, strips of chicken – whenever John had taken time to do some cooking, he didn't know – and mayonnaise. Simple, but delicious and satiating. “How are you?” he finally asked back when he had devoured half of the sandwich.

 

“Never felt so bloody alive and tired at the same time.” John chuckled, taking a large bite of his own. “Sherlock-...” he started, but never continued.

 

“I know, John.. What will we do about it?”

 

“Well, let's not worry about it now. We still have god knows how long to go. Just note, that whatever decision you make, goes.”

 

“Why so?”

 

“Because it's _your_ _body_.”

 

“It would be _your child_.”

 

“'Would'? Are you sure that's the right word here?”

 

“Well, John, it's highly probable I already am pregnant and, if incredibly not so, will be by the end of this heat.”

 

“No, Sherlock, I just mean, it is very, very likely you already are. First heat's always the one when an Omega is most fertile and I do like to think of myself as still virile, not matter my age.”

 

“Well, even more so then. John, this pup will be yours. Even though you might think me incapable of feeling empathy – granted, I don't feel any empathy, but I can guess about how you might feel about this pup and it _is_ your legal right to have a say in its destiny.”

 

“Sherlock, I am old – older than one should be for their first pup. You, however are five years younger than me and still in your prime, especially with your Omega nature only just evolving now. I pretty much gave up on my wish to one day have a family when I moved in with you and- well, anyway. I will not force you to settle down with me, just because I want to have this pup with you. You've still got options. I know you don't fancy the quite family life and even if so, you should still have chance and right to go and find yourself the partner you want. So, if you wish to abort this baby, I will not intervene. If you want to keep it, I will support you as much as I can or, if you don't want me to, leave this flat, this life, whatever you say you want me to do.”

 

“That's not very alpha of you.” Sherlock breathed as the only thing he found himself capable of as rational sense was knocked out of him. Curse his newly discovered nature for ruining this conversation by building up for the next round. “John, before we lose it again, I want you to know, that I never ever wish for you to step out of my life. Mark this, and listen carefully because I will likely never say it again: I love you, you are the best thing that could ever have happened to me. You change me and I am ok with that because I feel better and I get through life more easily with your advise and entertainment. Had I ever known I was an Omega, I wouldn't have let you run into this mistake because you don't deserve it. I am unworthy of care and your friendship and I feel ashamed of abusing your kindness, but that is what I am, a sociopath, I use and manipulate people, though I never feel bad about it except with you and, as I know I am overly selfish, don't ever leave me.... please.” Sherlock didn't know how that had just happened, but it had made his eyes water stupidly.

 

John was clearly just as surprised as he was himself, if the wide, shocked eyes with which he was looking down at him from his position of being propped up on his elbow was any indication. Sherlock was just about to ask John to say something, _anything_ , when he felt warm hands envelope his face and John's lips crash softly against his own. Stunned, as he was, he couldn't bring his eyes to shut themselves and instead stared up at John's firmly pressed closed ones, the single tear that fought its way out between the eyelashes and fell on his face.

John moved his mouth over his chin and along his neck while positioning himself between Sherlock's legs once again and lapping at the crook between neck and shoulder, preparing the skin for a bite, as he guessed, in the most arousing and heartbreaking way, as Sherlock just lay there, still, stunned into paralysis.

 

Neither of them lost memory of this time, both staying in tune for the wonderful feeling of John's member in Sherlock's wet, tight hole, maddening kisses to whatever part of Sherlock John could reach and that final, blissful moment when orgasm hit them both simultaneously, Sherlock's body milking John for all he could give and John's teeth breaching the skin on Sherlock's neck, closing the circle their bodies and hearts formed sending both of them far, far away into the absolute of human pleasure – the bond of Alpha and Omega.

 


	2. How to continue?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun's over and Sherlock's rational mind greets him with complaints and concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, chaps!  
> So, yeah. Here it is. You asked for it and since I find myself in the rare situation that combines having time AND being creative - here you already go again.  
> Now, I know I might have sounded a bit snappy in the notes on the last chapter and I won't even deny, that that is just what I'm like, but I'd like you to know, that, generally, I'm a rather non-bity person. Just so you don't fret leaving me comments ;)  
> Lastly, I'll have to admit to you, that I am incredibly lazy and therefore almost never re-read my own texts. Any misspelled words or even misused vocabulary - let me know, I'll correct! (I'm not a direct native speaker, so, yeah, that can happen.)  
> Stay cool!

“How long?” came with a deep breath from Sherlock.

 

He could practically _feel_ John frown against his chest as he himself stared at the ceiling, sticking to the ignore-emotion-technique he had pursued for most of the time they had talked. Come to think of it, he hadn't really changed position at all except for that one time on all fours, since all the other ones he'd spent looking up at John bent over him. Unusual for an Alpha to prefer a face-to-face position when their Omega is in heat, since they mostly preferred the submi- wait- their Omega? _Their_ Omega? Oh, God. “I dearly hope you're not asking about the length of my cock..” John asked back sounding rather disturbed.

 

Sherlock negated by extending on his question, thought not actually being able to complete it. “How long have we been...”

 

“Fucking like crazy rabbits?” John supplied as rest of the question, now rather amused. “A good six days last time I checked and let me tell you I'm so-”

 

Sherlock frowned, interrupting John. “Six days? That seems hardly ordinary!”

 

“Yeah, Sherlock, let me just wonder about how often we'll have to bring up this was your first heat _ever_ at age _33_.. I'm surprised you managed any breaks between rounds at all.. Your body must've been ready to burst with hormones.” John mused, obviously not noticing Sherlock's concerns – odd, considering they were bonded and should actually be sensing each other on a whole new level.

 

“John, have we talked about all this? I remember a lot of talking, but I'm not sure I was in my right mind.”

The speed with which John propped himself up on one elbow to stare at Sherlock in sheer horror was frankly quite remarkable, even if worryingly so. “It's just- I mean... Nothing to fret, John... Did I agree to bond?”

 

“When you say 'nothing to fret', do you, in fact, know what that means?!” the Alpha growled in panic? Was it panic? Why ever did the skill of emotional reading subside with the end of his heat again?! Would come in very handy with the conversation with his _mate_ right now, dear nature, not to spare a sociopath from it. Lacking empathy doesn't seem to be too much of a thrill when dealing with one's panicking Alpha mate.

 

What did John expect now? Did he expect anything? This was Sherlock, after all, and John knew that. An upset Alpha against a recovering Omega, however, not so favourable. “Not, that I want to break it, although, considerably, it would be the easier problem to take care of, but there's no point in pursuing a solution just because it's easy – I might be eccentric, but I'm not entirely hopeless, so I would, at least, give a bond a try, even if more for your sake than for mine-”

 

“Sherlock, I am going to punch you and it is going to hurt.” John said in that calm tone that seemed so much more threatening than when he shouted, although, if he ever did, of course his shouting was still one up on his calm, since it happened so rarely and meant the final loss of control over the alpha-soldier mix that was John, while as the calm was the soldier keeping tight grip on raging alpha.

 

Basically, John was complex and complicated and if Sherlock understood a tat more about psychology, he'd build a whole new sector in his mind palace for the analysis of John's psyche. “No, you completely misunderstood-”

 

“Is that so? Because I could swear I have just heard you deny your confession of love and all that you told me right before I bloody bit you in the right thought you wanted it- wanted _me_ , just as you _had_ said.”

 

“I.. did?” Sherlock asked and, for a second, John looked like he genuinely was about to swing his fist. For a second, Sherlock was mildly terrified by John. “It's- I- no- ah... I- I seem to have forgotten I told you, that does _not_ mean I lied! I only remember that round of coitus, not the conversation and was ever so slightly afraid I would have to be ashamed of you being able to know my emotions and being only in this because of instinct yourself...”

 

“You're not thinking of breaking the bond?” John asked in serious and unconsciously threatening voice.

 

“No, John, I promise, I'm not. Now, next thing is exactly that: What's wrong with the bond, why are we not emotionally bonded?”

 

John relaxed visibly, sinking back down next to him until he lay facing Sherlock, now looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “Our bodies are just coming down from hormonal high, give it a day or two. We're neither as young as is usual, might need to take time to regenerate the strength and stability.” he answered softly, but moving no further in terms of touching Sherlock in any way.

 

They fell silent for a while, neither of them wanting to throw the stone of inevitable discussion until it lay upon them so heavily, Sherlock couldn't bear staying silent any longer. “....The child?” he asked eventually.

 

“As I already said, it's all your decision. I will not insist on you keeping it and I will not tell you to abort it. You would be the one most affected with your body changing and all. I don't wish to force you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

 

“Well, there would be other effects, no? I can hardly imagine running around London, chasing criminals with a pup either cradled in my belly or strapped to my chest. And I don't suppose you'd appreciate taking it to crime scenes, although I can't see what would be so terrible about a child being confronted with death and dangers of crimes at a young age – teaches them early and prevents the delusion of a 'wonderful, fluffy, full of love' world-”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Oh, right. Well, you see my point, I believe.”

 

“Your life is my life, Sherlock, has been from the day we met, hasn't it? If you want to keep the pup, you'll not be able to work cases for a while, after that, we can always make arrangements. I could stop joining you, work in the clinic to earn the money, come home and take care of the pup while you run off to do what you always do. If you don't want to keep it, we'll see to it being 'taken care of' and continue the way we have until now.” John remained absolutely calm and neutral. He didn't want to influence Sherlock, obviously.

 

Sherlock gave him a good look: John was relaxed, comfortable with the current situation, he had already offered a plan to Sherlock should he choose to keep the child. John had always wanted a family, he had said and it'd be only logical, if he wanted to have this pup with Sherlock, as he'd also proved he felt the same emotional pull toward him.

 

“Do you want to keep it?” John asked, still neutrally, and a pause set in.

 

“I don't know..”Sherlock replied honestly. This would require a lot of consideration and thought.

 

“Well, you don't have to make a decision this instant.” John breathed, brushed a stray lock out of Sherlock's forehead and leaned over him to give him a long and gentle kiss, which Sherlock returned only too happily. “You should get a shower.” the Alpha whispered against his lips and Sherlock found he might actually find pleasure in this whole emotions thing after all. Especially when John kissed him again, the sensation warming and somehow hypnotising. “Or would you prefer to take a bath? I'd prepare one.”

 

“Thank you, I'd rather have a shower – I have done enough laying down these past days.” he replied, their tender exchange not subsiding. After a minute or so Sherlock found his voice again. “You know, to get a shower, it would be helpful if you let me get up.” he whispered fondly.

 

“Yes,” John answered, “only I don't seem able to stop tending to you.” With this, he pushed his tongue forward and into Sherlock's mouth.

  
He, in return opened up expectantly, enjoying the feeling of John's tongue exploring, warm breath against his lips. God, he was already aroused again. Surely that could not be the standard of his life now, could it? Laying in bed for days and marvelling over being kissed, internally begging for more like a pathetic, little, dependent Omega with the need for his Alpha to take care of him, spoil him, toady him like he couldn't take care of himself. The thought alone was revolting enough for him to shove John back and shuffle out of his bed to pad off to the bathroom. John's concerned call he only answered with some mumbling. He didn't follow him, however.

Sherlock took a long hot shower, leaning against the cold tiles on the wall for half of the time, the beautiful contrast between hot and cold making his blood pressure rise and his body feel alive again.

He felt so dumb. Now, that his brain had picked up on working fully again, it sunk in, all of it. How it had started, how pathetically he had tried to hide from John instead of standing strong an taking control. He remembered how John had, in his way of caring, brought him to his bedroom and how he had tried to seduce John like a ridiculous horny dog. He remembered how John had eventually lost control and taken him, helped him. And he remembered how senseless he had been, how he had not even tried to think about just _what_ he was doing, what the consequences would be – no, he had asked John to stay, when he'd had the chance to stop it all, prevent the worst.

 

There was a careful knock on the door. “Sherlock? You alright?”

 

Oh, John.

How could this have happened to him? All his life he had managed to stay far, far away from this Alpha-Omega trivia. He had _never_ been so much as interested in sex and far less any emotional bond, hadn't been able to understand others, who were. It was John. John had changed him. Was it bad? In a way it was, he supposed. When he'd first seen John, he was immediately tied up by the story he told and yet never told a word about. John was different from everyone else. He wasn't _ordinary_ as most people thought him, he was far from that! Just because he wore those ridiculously adorable jumpers and could socialise, didn't mean he wasn't suffering from PTSD and fighting his own disturbed mind with all his willpower. But no one ever looked at the shaking hand, most people didn't even realise John was left-handed! They only saw limp and cane and thought 'ah, well, he was a soldier, he will have gotten wounded', but not one of them saw it was an at least partly psychosomatic limp. Nobody noticed how uncomfortable John could get talking to people, how he loathed the general ignorance of society and despised talking to narrow-minded, superficial, stupid people. John surely wasn't a genius, but lord he was intelligent. Smart. Cunning.

And he loved danger. He was begging for it, for Sherlock to take him along on his adventures instead of annoyingly pointing out how he could get himself killed, how very childish his behaviour and longing for heroism was; he never told Sherlock to stop, not even now because he was an Omega, because he was pregnant, because he was his mate. No, John encouraged him to keep pursuing his job even if they kept the pup.

Oh, John.

 

The door opened and John stepped in, blinking against the great moisture in the air, the steam swooshing out through the barely opened door. “Sherlock?” he asked again and Sherlock couldn't help it and smiled lovingly at the smaller man.

 

“I'm alright. Just thinking.” he answered and noticed his own deep voice ringing through the room, volume supported by the tiled walls and floor.

 

“Oh, good. I was worried you might have hit your head or fallen asleep or something.”

 

“No. I'm fine.” he repeated, taking in the sight of John, fully dressed and yet with almost magnetic sexual power on him.

Sherlock didn't know whether or not his emotions translated correctly onto his face – they usually didn't. Most likely, the small smile tugging at Sherlock's lips looked like a completely flat expression to John. “I'll be out in a minute.” he supplied and pushed away from the wall to start shampooing his hair. He heard John close the door and felt his posture sink reflexively. He was always a little tense around the Alpha – a rudiment of behaviour from when he expected John to reject him like everybody else did; internally, he was always calm in John's presence, cradled in the trust for him to stand up for Sherlock when someone was being an idiot. He would need to work on his body's response to his mate. His mate. Good Lord...

 

 

John had readied the kitchen table when Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, clouds of steam accompanying him. The mere thought of breakfast was sickening him as he usually did not eat so soon after leaving the bed, but he figured, that after a week of constant calorie burning and only eating when John had been granted the chance to prepare food, he should really consume something edible. Plus, he was pregnant with 99% probability and John would force him to eat anyway. He sat down in his usual chair, as did John. Facing each other from the opposite seats, they looked at each other for a moment, which felt awkward.

From friends to lovers out of mind to lovers in right mind within the cycle of a surprise-heat. Very awkward indeed.

Sherlock broke their eye contact by grabbing a slice of bread and spreading butter and marmalade on it.

 

“You're welcome.” John answered sarcastically.

 

“Yes, thank you. This is really kind of you.” Sherlock praised. There were more important things on his mind than manners right now.

 

It was silent for a while. “Look, I know this is a little weird and unexpected, but this is where we are now. You said you don't wish to break our bond and neither do I. Maybe we should just try to find it in ourselves to be like a couple.”

 

“Are we not?”

 

“Well- I mean- uh...” John stammered and Sherlock recapitulated what exactly it was that defined a couple in a romantic relationship. Love, passion. They had that. Closeness, trust. Check. They even lived together.

“Well, I mean.. if you are fine with that..? Never took you for the romantic type..”

 

“John, just because I myself might not be overly romantic doesn't mean I can't be in a romantic relationship.” Sherlock grumbled and set his toast down. He wasn't hungry in the least.

 

John looked between him and the slice of bread, but, as John so often did, he said nothing whatsoever, figuring there was no point to argue with Sherlock about any of the presenting topics. If the man wasn't hungry, he wouldn't eat. If the man wanted a relationship, he would get it.

 

Sherlock reached out over the tabletop and took John's right hand in his left, finding that it was rather practical they had different dominant hands since they could hold each other's hand while still operating something. “John. You know better than anyone, what kind of person I am. I am not given to outbursts of emotion and if I do show much of them, it has good reason, pregnancy for example. However, I do believe I have told you, during the more mindful part of the last week, that I am having a certain emotional attachment to you and even though I was lost in the wild conundrum of hormonal spikes, I did not lie. I love you. I am willing to accept this weakness as mine. I am prepared to act upon it, so, if you will have me, I will be yours and yours entirely.”

 

John looked blank and for a moment Sherlock feared he'd misinterpreted John's behaviour towards him, but then the Alpha turned his hand so their palms were touching and squeezed lightly as if to signalise that the message has been processed and appreciated.

 

 

 

They went on as usual after that, the only difference being sex. A considerably high amount of sex. Really. A lot.

 

John, ever the soldier, would wake early and, because Sherlock was pregnant and John forced him to sleep even by his own methods, would wait an hour for his partner to find back to reality by himself and then nudge him awake, if he didn't wake on his own. After an hour of thought, John was usually erect and hungry for Sherlock's body, at least that was, what he made of John's relaxed state and powerful erection in the same context.

So John would devour him. Lips pressed firmly together, tongues dancing the most incredible waltz and most energetic tango, until Sherlock was mewling for John to sate his newly discovered libido. They would give it two rounds at least in the morning, depending on John's work schedule. The week he'd been missing out had been discussed with the clinic and he could continue working the job. And so, after the marvellous rounds of sex in bed, there often came another round of hand jobs in the shower. And then, Sherlock was alone for a couple of hours and he used them to think. And he thought and thought for hours on end.

Sometimes he got distracted by other thoughts and John would eventually pull him out of it in the late evening hours to have dinner and then go to bed, not caring whether Sherlock wanted to or not. There was sex before sleeping, so Sherlock always wanted. With his heat, he had discovered he was disgustingly addicted to having John's thick penis up his tight arse. He just felt complete, sated, full, like the whole in his heart was stuffed by John showing him his love as he gently, lazily gave slow thrusts, cradled him in his lap and pushed him up and down against the headboard or, rather rarely, leaned over his back as he served him from behind in a frantic and punishing rhythm that left them both breathless. The very best thing about their bond, however, was when John bit him, favourably during sex after he'd whispered compliments and praises into his neck. Warm breath caressing the tender flesh of the ever-open wound as his mate filled with overwhelming passion and the longing to be closer to John, although they were already as close as physically possible.

 

“You are so unbelievably beautiful! I could just fuck you all day long.. God, you're driving me crazy!” he'd breath with the tone of painful effort of holding back.

 

And Sherlock would be incapable to say any more than John's name as the other's saliva set free a cocktail of hormones when it was applied to prepare the hurt flesh for a renewing bite, that simply knocked all sense and thought out of Sherlock for a minute, sending him back to the blissful place in what could only be named heaven as it had done the very first day they had bonded.

 

Sometimes, words would slip John's tongue, such as “good Omega, so obedient, so pregnant, carrying my child,” but neither would make a mention of it afterwards.

 

Sherlock knew, it was just John's instinct making him say it out loud, but when the Alpha had fallen asleep and he himself still walked on the edge to unconsciousness, he would look at John laying on his back, he would stroke his chest and shoulders and belly, he would circle the scar in his left shoulder and think.

He had been thinking all of this through for two weeks now and he was starting to feel his body change already. Unlike other Omegas, he had trained himself to note even the tiniest development about his body, even if he thought it merely transport, and he could tell, that any day now, he would start spitting as his body tried to reject the stranger cells inside him.

His scent had changed, too, John had told him three days ago.

He was definitely, definitely pregnant. And this was all going to fast for him. Three weeks ago, he had never thought he'd develop an interest in sex, even _with John_. A mere year ago, he had never anticipated experiencing the punishing throb love left in his heart. He wouldn't believe himself an Omega had it not been proofed first hand.

And still he had not been able to decide. Did he want this child or did he not? Surely he couldn't give it much more time to be thought through – Omega pregnancies were not tolerated to be aborted after passing the eighth week of pregnancy nowadays.

John surely wanted this pup and, technically so did Sherlock. But it meant a great change to both of their lives.

His indecisiveness and the torture it put on both of them would eventually put him in a sad mood and he would curl up around John to search reassurance that his Alpha loved him anyway. John would breath audibly, shift in his sleep and turn towards Sherlock and envelop him in his limbs.

 

And then the new day would begin as usual and John would fuck him senseless as often and long as he could. And Sherlock would lay there, moving no more than to kiss, to pant and to sometimes claw at John when it was so good, he couldn't hold back. And Sherlock would think on his own. And John would stay silent and give him the opportunity.

 

 


	3. "I love you" isn't all that's needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decision's made, but a relationship needs more than love - it needs trust and support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello³ :D
> 
> I find myself in a rather complicated situation and a bunch of bad moods, so I end up writing more than fulfilling my tasks... Ah, well ^^  
> Also, I wanted to briefly mention something: I am not new to the A/B/O universe in general, just never participated actively. I do know a lot of theories on biology and all, but I, as a biologically interested person, am taking my own shot at it, interpreting my way and developing own theories and dynamics. So, you might find things that haven't been written about, thought of or whatever yet, but keep in mind, that this story is my own interpretation and how it all works for me. This also translates in the characters as I expect it to do.  
> This shows in my depiction of each of the characters involved, for example Mycroft. I love Mycroft, he's probably my favourite character on the show and it's just very hard to correctly translate him into fanfiction. Not, that it isn't with Sherlock and John themselves, since they are both absolutely complecated characters as well, but of them we see a lot more than of Mycroft, leaving us with more material on behaviour, language and reaction. Mycroft is a character yet to fully develope to our eyes..
> 
> So, yes, if you find you're having difficulties with reading my story because you think the characters translated inadequately, please let me know and I'll give it a thought, but please do !not! tell me things like 'John is a lot more normal and emotional' because, honestly guys, he isn't. Pay attention and analyse his personality. That man may seem ordinary, but, even further than his addiction to danger, he really, really, isn't. He may, in fact, be even more complicated and shaded than Sherlock is and gets way too little credit for that *sigh*..
> 
> Well, now, keep cool, have fun and leave me your opinions!

It was two nights later, that they both lay in bed, peaceful and untouched. John had had a stressful day at the clinic and simply was too tired to start anything exhausting. That's when Sherlock turned his head to look at the other man. “John,” he addressed.

 

John gave a hum that confirmed his attention and he rolled onto his side to look back at Sherlock.

It was in Sherlock's eyes, he knew, as John's focus immediately increased once looking at him.

 

John knew what he was referring to. “I want it.”

 

John went still. Very still. “Are you sure?” he asked for reaffirmation.

 

“Yes,” was the simple response John had required. Suddenly he seemed awake and alive again as stretched over him, enveloped Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him with something that felt like infinite relief. And Sherlock kissed back.

 

After a moment, John drew back from him to utter a soft “thank you” and then continued kissing him, snogging him, ending up with one leg pushed between the Omega's, sending him high up into arousal. Momentarily, there was a firm hand pressed to his belly and John was moaning into his mouth before progressing in his exploration of Sherlock's body like he had so many times before and yet never seemed to grow tired of. Had Sherlock been rather passive all the other times, it had been because of the unsure feeling the new and surprising situation had left him with; not knowing whether or not he wanted to keep the child; not knowing whether or not John would stay with him, had he chosen not to; not knowing how far their bond was actually working and going.

Now he was certain: he wanted to keep the pup and he definitely, definitely wanted to keep John. John, who tended to him without being asked. John who had accepted and even liked him right from the start. John who first had smelled so rich and desirable and now irresistible, yet comforting. John, who was the right one for him; the only one.

Brilliant, _brilliant_ John.

John, who was moaning and gasping even as he only kissed, nibbed and bit at Sherlock's skin like it was the first time he had ever felt desire and pleasure and passion, although one might think he'd grown used to all this procedure by now. John, who was treating him with a care no other Alpha would display to him as he pushed his fingers into him and stretched him deliciously.

John.

John.

John.

 

“John, get on with it! I need you now!”

 

Oh, torturous kisses and licks that endured the other half that made him an omega male.

Oh, sweet hell that was his heart's new cage.

He felt like he was falling into a bottomless pit, carried on the wings of something grand, something new.

John had never been so close and he would never let him back away, he swore to his heart's holy demon.

He beat two hearts.

He breathed two mouths.

He rocked two rhythms.

He felt both sides.

Their junction was a transcendent state in space and time and Sherlock had never been one for poetry, but lord witness, their souls rose high.

Nothing he had ever felt. Too much, too much! Yet never enough.

He couldn't bare and never wanted it to end, the symphonic melody to which John rocked their bodies. Gliding in and out of his body, hitting that one spot that seemed so secret, but in plain sight for John. The unbelievably talented orchestra that was merely John's mouth, granting freedom to croaked moans and stifled cries of incredulous sensations and yet Sherlock was the only one to ever hear, to know and not to tell. It was theirs. His. John was his and he was John's.

This was their secret, shared with no one but the life growing inside his womb, the product of their eternal bond.

 

The cry of invaluable bliss. John's semen filling him until he overflew. Blinking his eyes open to John panting into his face. The flame of the most incredible of kisses, the soft adjusting of their positions so Sherlock was laying atop John, weight off of his vulnerable body.

“I love you.”

 

Sherlock propped himself up to look at John. “It's the first time you ever told me.” he passed remark.

 

John frowned thoughtfully at Sherlock's rather surprised look. “Is it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Sorry, I meant to say it all the time.”

 

“Our bond.. did it finally catch?”

 

“I should think so.”

 

There was a long pause in which it sank in, the new feeling caught and they both took in the amazing influence a bond had on the participants; the closeness of hearts, the connection of souls, the circle's ends forming a perfect ring.

 

“John?” Sherlock murmured and felt his deep voice resonating through John's body.

  
“Yes?” John whispered back, sleep gripping at his mind.

 

“I love you.”

 

 

 

Three weeks into pregnancy and Sherlock was retching for the better part of two hours each morning and evening, often also at night. John would sit beside him and stroke his back soothingly, while listening to Sherlock blaming him between heaves. After half an hour, John would get up and make tea to balance Sherlock's body nutrients. And sometimes he'd make three or four cups because the mere taste of tea made him vomit.

His colour drained and he looked like a cold corpse even more than usual. At least, John thought, Sherlock ate, ate much more than usual. There were days he seemed insatiable and John mused about how he would get later on, when the pup actually grew in size and required more nutrition. It was all so visible in his innocent features and Sherlock couldn't stop deducing, even if he tried.

It was in that third week, that John dragged him along to see a doctor.

Dr. Field was discreet and polite and Sherlock greatly approved of John's choice. They took a pregnancy test, just to be sure, discussed the state of pregnancy, Sherlock's problem with morning sickness, 'I think it is absolutely misnamed, John!', and Dr. Field offered him some adequate medication to ease off the intensity and quantity a bit.

It was the ultrasound that got interesting. The first of many and John and Sherlock were both tense with anticipation, visibly so or not, in Sherlock's case. There was cold gel spread on his abdomen and an apparatus switched on. As soon as that stick touched his body, the screen flickered to life to show vague pictures in black and white. Sherlock couldn't make much of it.

The young doctor was silent for a moment, obviously concentrating, but there was more to the slightly nervous way she moved the stick around on him and he frowned deeply in concern. A quick look between the couple had John know what Sherlock had worked out and he could feel how John's anticipation was drained out of them both and replaced by naked fear.

 

“What's wrong?” John asked the brunette snappily.

 

“It's uh.. Look at this.” she instructed, pointing with her finger at a tiny bundle of light grey. “This is the embryo, but the dot is too big for just three weeks... Unfortunately it doesn't seem I can tell for sure what this means until we can get a more detailed picture. Sorry..”

 

“It couldn't be cancer, could it?” Sherlock asked, restlessness travelling through his body.

 

“I shouldn't say so, no. The embryo's cells have barely formed just yet – it would be some supernatural cancer to develop so quickly on such young cells.” she replied calmly and, indeed, Sherlock seemed a tat more confident.

 

They got a picture of the, unusually big, bundle of cells with them to be able to see developments over time and to compare the picture of this current state with the ones that were yet to come.

Sherlock's mind wasn't really at ease and he continued to stare at the bloody picture for so long, John eventually just took it from him and lay it aside where it was safe but out of sight for the Omega.

His insides were screaming with concern for their pup and John himself didn't seem too calm either, but, as the Alpha in their relationship, he tried to calm his mate, kissing him and leading him to sit on the sofa where he cradled and cuddled him until both their minds had pushed the subject aside for now – it couldn't be declared dangerous until they got a better look.

 

 

Just two days later, as they were caught yet again in a tangle of limbs and kisses and rocking the clump of cells inside Sherlock in the calming rhythm of John fucking Sherlock senseless on their couch, John abruptly stopped in all his movement and moans and, to Sherlock's great displeasure, his cock went soft right there inside him.

 

“John, what are doing?!” he growled angrily, following John's disturbed look to see his brother discreetly averting his eyes. “Well, this certainly is a turn-on.” Sherlock sighed threw the blanket they were keeping on the couch over John, crawling out from underneath him to redress himself right there, while John made his way to their bedroom, blanket held tightly around his body.

 

“I hear, and see, that you have finally 'done the trick'. Just two days ago, I was informed you had paid a _doctor_ a visit and it wasn't _your_ doctor. When were you going to tell the rest of your family that you bonded and got pregnant? When were you going to reveal to _any one of us_ that you finally presented?” Mycroft asked, his tone increasingly serious and reproachful.

 

“This is none of your business, Mycroft, go and help yourself to a cake in some ridiculous café!” Sherlock snapped, waving his hand in gesture to dismiss his brother.

 

Mycroft did not so much as budge. “This is, in fact, exactly my business, dear brother. Mummy would not be pleased to be informed by accident that one of her sons has had a child, much less the one that seemed unable to reproduce. She would be.. insulted by your careless behaviour.” his arrogant voice sounded through the room, carrying to Sherlock's ears the words he knows would affect him the most.

 

Sherlock himself, however, did not think of giving in to his brother. “I'm _not_ careless! I have chosen an adequate mate, conceived a child – I am only three weeks along, Mycroft and I have only decided I will keep it a week ago! Excuse my not being as perfectly quick as wished for! And anyway, I don't see you with child!” he argued. He couldn't stand Mycroft trying to educate him.

 

The older Holmes kept calm and seemingly indifferent. “No, but I ensure financial stability for you. You're living on _my_ wages-”

 

“I have a job!” Sherlock knew his brother was simply wearing a mask. Mycroft had always been proud of him and only wanted his best. Question was, why did he not act like it, ever?!

 

“An insecure and irresponsible job, which you'll have to quit for a number of months-”

 

“My mate has a reliable job!” he interrupted his brother's words.

 

“And we all know he will have to cut his shifts to be with you and fulfil your constant need for attention and then, where does the money come from? You don't seriously think your wannabe job has sufficed to pay those bills for a flat in central London for the past year? If not for me, Scotland Yard wouldn't even consult you. You do remember the arrangements _I_ made _for you_? Your source of wages, as ridiculous as it is, depends on _my_ influence-”

 

“I'm not even paid by Scotland Yard!” he bellowed back, being fed up with the mothering Mycroft was always practising on him. Probably his way of dealing with the fact he could never live an omega life, his body's compensation of decades of suppressed hormones.

 

He had done it when they were children, making it obvious he was to present as omega and had not stopped since because he had never had children of his own, or even a second heat. He had loathed his nature and had acted against it ever since he'd known about it. “No, but without your work for Scotland Yard, you would never have found private clients.”

 

“Well, but that would be my doing, wouldn't it?” John piped in as he entered the room, now dressed.

 

Mycroft turned his head toward John, his expression shifting visibly, trying to look superior while knowing he couldn't. “John, I am not against you, I am no opponent. You earn my highest regards for what you have done for your country and what you set yourself on to do for my brother henceforth and I can not possibly speak words that would describe my awe and gratefulness for your bond to Sherlock, but not even you could have made him famous without him helping out Scotland Yard. No disrespect, but this is something important I have to tell my brother.” It always made Sherlock feel that sick satisfaction to see Mycroft lose his calm when facing John.

 

“Oh, I'm not stopping you. You are right in your position, I'd just like you two to play fair with one another, yes, that goes for you as well as for him, Sherlock. But I tell you one thing Mycroft: If you make him feel uncomfortable in _any way_ , I cannot guarantee to not rage against you and I don't know if you've ever witnessed an alpha soldier's rage, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to.” And John didn't even know he made Mycroft uncomfortable, which was exactly the reason Mycroft felt the need to display superiority and failing, even to John eyes.

 

“Probably not.” Mycroft admitted, raising an eyebrow and avoiding gaze. After taking a deep breath, he changed the subject, distracting attention from his insecurity. “How far have you two thought this through?”

 

“I'm not going to chase people around London for a while and John wants to do his best to support me.” Sherlock answered triumphantly, knowing fully well Mycroft knew he knew. It was their sibling bond.

 

“Very detailed plan, isn't it?” Mycroft mocked to display his higher position to Sherlock. “I gather there was an abnormality discovered at your ultrasound the other day?” his brother added to piss him off as best as possible.

 

“The pup and I are both fine!” Sherlock snapped back angrily. It was just the kind of mockery he couldn't take at the moment, he was worried enough anyway.

 

“But you cannot know for certain. What if, in fact, you will have a disabled child? Will you still keep it? Would you be able to raise it still or would you lose patience? What if you have a miscarriage? Will you try again?”

 

“Get out!” he was shouting now, his pulse elevating. He was unsettled and it got worse by the second.

 

“Sherlock, these are reasonable questions to consider!”

 

He didn't want to hear it. “Get. Out!” His insides were flaring with worry and unease. His pup was in danger. He couldn't have his pup in danger. He needed to protect his pup.

 

“Mycroft, I must ask you to leave. You're not exactly helping at the moment.” John voice was saying vaguely and he left the room with Mycroft. His Alpha was leaving. He was leaving because Sherlock couldn't protect their pup. He was leaving because Sherlock wasn't able to give him a healthy pup.

 

“Do consider these thoughts to be possibilities, John. For the sake of my brother – think and talk about every unfortunate scenario before it gets chance to set in.” he barely heard Mycroft say.

 

John nodded tensely before turning back around and re-entering the flat. “Sherlock,” he said softly as he approached his mate, still unsettled in his chair, outwardly noticeable by the clenched jaw and densely fixed eyes. “Hey, love.. It's ok. For now, everything's fine.” Somehow the fact that John was present was enough to ease his mind somewhat. His mate was there. His Alpha wasn't leaving him. John wasn't angry. John gave him a chance to save their pup.

 

“Only that it's not, John, is it? The doctor said it, you heard it- you _saw_ it! What if something goes wrong? What if our child has a disability? What if it dies without even being born just yet?!-”

 

“Shh, we don't know that! We will go there again in 4 weeks and see if there's anything new she can tell us. Maybe it's just a very eager pup and, going by the amount of food you have been consuming lately, growing really fast just to slow down in a couple of weeks.”

 

“We don't know that.” he breathed panicky. Something wasn't right, he knew it, he knew.

 

“No, but neither do we know that the embryo has any kind of abnormality in it. Please calm down.”John replied softly and straddled Sherlock's lap to guide his face against his neck where Sherlock nuzzled into the skin, taking deep breaths with John's scent filling his nostrils and nipping at the flesh as if preparing it for a bite.

 

It had John sigh contently. Sherlock calmed down immediately. “I will have to delete the memory of Mycroft stepping in or else I'll be conditioned to automatically associate sex with him – that would be no fun at all..”

 

“God, real cock block..” John huffed, but in an amused tone.

 

 

 

“You're getting softer around the middle.” John whispered acknowledging the curves of Sherlock's muscles beginning to subside.

 

“I am eating like a pig.. I'm getting fat..” Sherlock complained looking down at himself and where John's hands were moving in lazy circles over his shirt, stopping in his preparation of tea.

 

“You're pregnant, you need the nutrition. You're going to get a lot softer anyway, as the process makes progress.” John hummed into his neck, giving little kisses to the sensitive skin.

 

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. He had accepted the consequences of being pregnant, but that didn't mean he had to like the fact of losing his fitness. “Yes, eventually I will look like a beach ball.”

 

“More like a pregnant man, love.” John chuckled lightly.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Never.”

 

“You like this!” Sherlock exclaimed as he sensed a current of anticipation run through John and reaching through their bond.

 

“What?” John asked, sounding shocked.

 

“The idea of me getting big and round with your pup!” he elaborated, taken aback by the fact John might actually find something good in that. Upon realising John's embarrassment, however, he settled for a nicer tone. He could take time to think about this later, maybe when they were both training to control just what the bond should translate between them. “Does someone have a really bad kink here?”

 

“Shut up, Sherlock.” John said, removing himself from around Sherlock's waist.

 

The Omega, however, quickly turned around and stopped John, going around to face him and looking him into the eyes with a soft smile as he placed the Alpha's hands on his abdomen to let them continue what they had been doing a moment ago. His look intensified as he slowly drew in a deep breath, deliberately inflating his belly and revelling in the sight of John's pupils dilated instantly. It was only too visible on John's face how he was cursing internally while Sherlock smiled wickedly. He leaned down, sealing the Alpha's lips firmly, an unspoken promise given and he knew John understood, could feel it through their finally fully developed bond and the feelings of gratitude, great anticipation and love rose inside Sherlock as they built inside John.

“Take what is yours.” Sherlock ordered quietly and John followed, burying his nose in Sherlock's neck, holding him by the hips.

 

The next ten minutes, John was passionately rubbing his cheeks against Sherlock's own, his neck, his collarbone, undressing him completely and continuing to mark him with his scent, nibbling at patches of skin, kneeling down and nuzzling into the softening flesh of Sherlock's belly, where the scent of their growing pup was strongest due to hormones produced directly beneath the skin to draw alpha attention to it; to keep the Omega tended to; keep them protected and cared for.

The closeness to and intimate attention by John sent out waves of endorphins and pheromones, ejected by John's contented alpha nature, through Sherlock's body and it was with great pleasure that he felt John's attention shifting further down to his hardening member. Just the tip of John's tongue brushing all the way down the shaft, followed by the entire width of it pushing all the way up again, his lips enveloping the tips sucking lightly at it.

Sherlock couldn't stop his hips thrusting forward slightly and the moan escaping his throat. He couldn't help the rapid increase in his arousal, his head falling backwards, his hands grabbing the kitchen counter behind him to keep himself steady as John took him deep into his mouth, rubbing circles into his thighs as he signalled him to make more space. Never in his life had he dreamed of the sensation brought by sexual desire, never had he thought of the sensation of them being sated, much less of anyone wanting to sate them, being capable of liking him in any way. Alphas could take what they wanted, Omegas were desired goods, even Betas got their share as they were capable of taking either part. No one wanted a genderless partner – they were useless, even as sex toys because they had no desires in that field. Luckily, there were very, very few of them, they were the rarest group in society. Fewer, than even Deltas and they were practically unheard of. Genderless scared people – they didn't smell, had almost no emotional reactions and were considered psychopaths for their lack of moral standards and empathy. Ridiculous, really, what they meant was sociopathy, which was a mental disability and which, as luck had it, was a part of Sherlock. He was lucky, really to have presented at last, even though John had liked him as a scentless, emotionless individual, regardless of not knowing he had been without gender. John had liked him, apparently even loved him. John loved him now. He loved his character and worshipped his body and Sherlock could not have hoped for someone better. Having presented as an Omega, although he would've preferred to be something considered more worthy, only made things easier, but wasn't a necessity at all, it seemed.

John loved him. He loved him on his knees, setting him, the Omega, on a higher position, worshipping him in a way no Alpha would if dealing with less than their perfect match. An Alpha didn't fall to his knees in front of Betas or Omegas. An alpha soldier didn't kneel to anyone but his superiors.

They didn't perform oral sex on Omegas, not even if they were their pregnant mates. It was beneath them. Their natural pride wouldn't allow it. Unless it was a perfect bond. A perfect bond.

A lifetime full of bullying, psychological abuse, feeling unloved and depressed.

 _He_ was John's perfect mate.

His Alpha was kneeling in front of him, was sucking and moaning and swallowing around his too large omega cock just to bring him pleasure, just to worship him.

 _He_ was _John's_ perfect mate.

 

“JOOHN!” he shouted as his orgasm hit, shaking violently as John sucked him dry until there were John's arms holding him steadily and guiding him to the floor safely, John's scent filling him with calming hormones of his own arousal, John's voice whispering soft praises. There was John. Just John.

“I never thought an Omega could find such pleasure through stimulation of their secondary sex organ.” he panted.

 

“I know.” John murmured back. “I never thought I could find such pleasure in a man's body.”

 

“You're still aroused.”

 

John only tightened his embrace around Sherlock's body. He didn't even expect Sherlock to bring him pleasure. _John_ was _his_ perfect mate.

 


	4. Explain to me what I cannot understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sociopath confronted with love and a bond - confusing, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys.  
> Sorry for not posting a couple of days, but that'll happen a lot more in the future. I'm taking my finals in the coming weeks and, well, you can understand, I guess. Nevertheless, here you are yet again :) Have fun reading and thank you for the support so far - you are great! :O  
> Keep cool, but don't keep those comments all to yourselves ;)

“You know he was right, yes?” John murmured into his ear, their bodies still close, sharing their warmth and so much more with one another.

 

“Hm?” Sherlock could only ask dumbly. He had no idea what John was talking about, but he didn't really care. They were here, together, all three of them, on the kitchen floor, cradled against the counter, John's arms around him and his scent giving him that deep contentedness.

 

“Your brother. I mean _if_ something is wrong with our pup-”

 

“I preferred the version of you that tried desperately to get me off the idea something could be wrong, John.” he complained very seriously. He already felt his heart beat becoming more rapid and not in the good way, like when it concerned John.

  
“I know, I just.. It _is_ a possibility..” the Alpha continued to mutter, the intensity of his scent increasing as his nature tried to calm his 'pregnant mate in distress'.

 

“I know 'you just', John, but don't. Seriously, don't.” he replied sternly, turning out of John's embrace to stand up. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little edgy on the subject and I think the pup would appreciate me not drugging it with distress – can lead to disability, miscarriage or premature birth; the very things we are worrying about at the moment, better not encourage them.” he continued coldly, stepping out of the room and into the bedroom, where he pulled up his mobile from his bedside table and started googling for medical websites on pregnancies, infants and diseases to both. He also hacked himself into his doctor's clinic files to check all of his stats, finding nothing out of the ordinary there; nothing that could match the possible complications. He didn't know what was wrong. He hated not knowing. And he hated John not knowing even more. And he hated John not following after him like any other Alpha would because he loved how different John was.   
  
He sent his request through their bond, trying to lure John to him to make up, cuddle, comfort. Right now, all he got from his mate was a deep, suppressed anxiety. John worried for their pup as much as he did himself, of course he did, he was it's father. But an Omega was, as much as he hated to include himself in that, a delicate and sensitive nature. Now, it wasn't much of a problem for him to keep his cool, he was certain, but that would have required some time to concentrate on adapting to the new situation, but he hadn't had that and instead bonded right away, having to deal with two new circumstances at once – handling Omega nature and the 'perks' of being vulnerable and emotional _and_ juggling the emotions of his Alpha, who seemed just as clueless with this bonding-matter as he was. _Obviously_! John was a soldier, had been to war. Stupid. _Stupid_! John was damaged, he had deduced it the day they had met: PTSD – John, as an Alpha, was hypersensitive to stressful situations, in his case the endangerment of the well-being of his close relationships, closest being Sherlock and their pup. By staying away, John tried to help so as to not push and pressure Sherlock with both psychical _and_ physical caging; he probably didn't even know how a typical Alpha would react.

And still, John opened the door and came to him, he looked down on him with that defensive look and only now Sherlock could understand what it really meant: John acknowledged he'd done something wrong and he didn't want Sherlock to push it any further because he was sorry, he just defensively avoided the 'please, forgive me' part. How people could think John to be the emotional one out of the two of them, he didn't know; his own mood swings, even when being genderless, were much more frequent and strong, John was merely the one that could really feel empathy. People were stupid. Stupid and boring. John wasn't. Well, he certainly wasn't a genius, but he wasn't witless. And, more importantly, he was here and he was cuddling right up against Sherlock's side, a woolly jumper and rough jeans against his still naked form, throwing an arm over his softening middle and pulling him closer protectively and then settling for stroking with his fingertips up and down his side slowly, softly, only whispering touches on his goose flesh, the only sound that of their breathing.

 

“How did you present, John?” Sherlock asked eventually as they were both calm again. They always talked and thought about 'dealing with the trouble later, there is nothing to be done at the moment' and then a second later got tangled up in their worries again. Now, he wanted to have something else to talk about, think about and he wanted to know more about John anyway – he always had, but John wasn't much more talkative than he was himself and he certainly didn't seem keen to share his past with anyone, as neither did Sherlock. However, he figured, as bonded mates, they had a right, no, a duty to learn about each other.

 

“Mh,” John hummed stirring, “I was rather late, too, though, admittedly, not nearly as late as you managed.” Sherlock could hear the grin in his tone. Sarcasm; John was trying to be funny. “Alphas usually present at the age of 11 or at least twelve I was fourteen and it was textbook.. I was at school. Fifteen minutes into the lesson I started to feel uncomfortable, but thought nothing of it. Suddenly, however, my hips snapped up and I was weirded out of my wits, but I just acted as if nothing had happened nobody seemed to have noticed. A couple of minutes later it happened again, though more forcefully and my chair moved a couple of inches. It was only then, when I had the first three Omegas in our class look at me hungrily, the Alphas challenging, that I realised what was going on and I stood and fled the classroom to get to the toilets – I must have looked so shocked and I was, I honestly was so out of my wits right then.. I locked myself in one of the cubicles, trying to think of a way to deal with the situation as I felt my body warming up, my cock hardening and, _god_ , I wanted to fuck something, _anything_ , so badly, I rutted against my hand as I intended to readjust my erection in my trousers. Christ I was so horny and at the same time so embarrassed, I started to cry and stifled my moans with my other hand. My classmates fortunately took it with humour and none of them made real fun of me, but I'll never forget how I waited for hours for school to end so I could leave the bloody loo again!” John ended with a chuckle.

 

It was nice, hearing that delightful sound ring through his chest, seeing the positive and open look in his eyes, feeling the memory settle into his mind palace. He leaned forward in his new position on his side, facing John, to kiss his mate fondly.

“Why did you present so late? And why did you not react to that 'uncomfortable feeling'?” Sherlock questioned. John wasn't stupid, he should have known what was possibly happening, especially with his interest in biology even back then, he deduced.

 

“I've been living in an unloving household, my psyche wasn't ready and so my body refused to heighten the level of stress any further. I also used to have psychosomatic nausea every other day, so I just blamed my abusive father. It was the time he'd bonded to his new wife and he was happier, less violent, so my mind was more at peace then.” John explained, his voice tinted with not a single trace of discomfort at the memories. He had finished with it all.

 

Sherlock snuggled closer to him, kissing him again. “You are so strong, you know that?” he praised, one hand falling on John's chest and lowering himself down so his head rested above his heart.

 

John frowned deeply. “Why is that?” he asked, moving his arm around Sherlock and letting it run up and down the man's spine.

 

“It's obvious.” he replied, but said nothing more. He loved being a tease like that and John knew that so he didn't ask. They just lay their, holding each other, kissing gently, John's hand on his belly constantly and his own hand joined in a protective caress that soothed both their nerves, eased their minds. It was stupid, but having something to touch strengthened the belief in something going right.

“John.” Sherlock whispered after many silent minutes, both of them so calm they were dancing on the edge of sleep.

 

“Hm?” came the tired reply from the Alpha and he resumed his long forgotten caresses on Sherlock's back.

 

Sherlock waited a couple of seconds to be completely sure it wouldn't go away, that feeling he wanted to ask John about. “I feel nauseous.”

 

“Oh, come on then, I'll help you.” John said, shifting, but Sherlock held him down, pinned with his own upper half.

 

“No, not that kind of nauseous, you know I don't get sick in the middle of the day.” Sherlock retorted as if pointing out the most obvious thing in the world. “No, I mean I'm nauseous, my chest feels all... woozy..” he elaborated in a slightly weird way, confused maybe.

 

A breathy chuckle sounded from his partner at the realisation. “You're in love, Sherlock, it's typical to feel like that.” he explained, pulling Sherlock a bit closer and nuzzling into his hair, breathing in his Omega's scent. Healthy, content, adoring, pregnant.

 

Sherlock frowned at his fair chest hair. “Do you feel like that?” he asked, eyes fixed on where John's heart lay under layers of skin, flesh, bones, blood pipes, lungs.

 

“Yeah, I do.” John breathed back. Sherlock concentrated fully on his own heartbeat now, feeling the intensity of it in his neck, hearing it in his ears.

 

His chest felt constricting, like it didn't leave his heart with enough space as it morsed down to John's own strongly beating heart. “I don't particularly like it..”

 

“Being in love?” John asked with a frown, a light current of worry washing through their bond.

 

Sherlock felt the need to sooth John's mind. He didn't want to upset him. “If that's what it feels like.” he answered cautiously.

 

“Mh, you'll get used to it.” John offered, obviously hopeful it would stop Sherlock from giving up their relationship.

 

“I hope so.” Sherlock replied. How could John doubt him?

 

Again with the frown. “Why?”

 

“Because I like holding you. I like your hand on our little one.” John let his hand draw another circle on Sherlock's stomach for emphasis, placing another kiss on his lips. It pleased how easily he could make John feel better, calmer. “Do you have to work tomorrow?” he asked, hoping that, no, he didn't.

 

John rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sherlock, like every week _this_ is my day off and I've got to go back to work tomorrow. Thousands of things you memorise, but god forbid my timetable at work..” he huffed, looking down at Sherlock with a weird look on his face.

 

“Well, I'm sorry, but I only store the information that is _really_ important.” Sherlock said snappily but gently nonetheless.  
  
“If you stored _that_ , you wouldn't have to ask every single day.” John countered .

 

“But then, what would we talk about?” Sherlock asked cockily.

 

John huffed out a chuckle. “Yes, like we don't have _anything_ to talk about these days.. I've had more conversations with you these past 3 weeks than half the time in the year we've lived together before.” came the fake complaint, followed by another soft kiss to his head.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and propped himself up on one arm again. “Well, I'm sorry I am not the conversational type. I wasn't and I'm still not, difference being, that I like you and I have little chance, what with the whole gender and bond things...” he tried to excuse himself, embarrassed to be losing his reputation.

 

“Well, _I'm_ sorry I am such a bother.” John huffed in fake offence.

 

“No, John, that wasn't what I meant!” Sherlock said quickly, fearing he had upset John after all. Why was he so incorrigibly useless when it came to emotional talk?!

 

“I know, love.” the doctor soothed, stroking the Omega's cheek with his thumb. “I know.” Leaning forward again, John kissed him once more, his other hand still on his partner's belly. “What do you want to eat?”

 

“Everything!” Sherlock exclaimed with an annoyed huff of breath. He loathed the fact that he couldn't get enough food these days when usually he rarely even felt hungry. He was going to look like his brother when all this was over, he was sure.

 

John chuckled. “Then everything you shall have. Well, at least everything we've got here.” and with a final chaste kiss, he got up to prepare a right dinner buffet of which Sherlock ate almost everything and later threw up almost half of.

 

“Why do you always let me eat this much?!” Sherlock accused as he had a wretch-free moment over the toilet.

 

John empathetically stroked his back. “Sherlock, I think it hardly matters how much you eat – _you_ spit it out anyway, even if it's just a big load of nothing.. It'll stop eventually, though, love. Now, how about a cup of tea so you don't dry out on me?” he offered, knowing full well what would be coming right after that.  
  
As if on cue, Sherlock shot back to dip his head into the toilet. He blindly punched the air behind him, trying to hit his laughing mate.

 

 

In the morning, John was gone early, had only briefly woken Sherlock to tell him he was off, there was breakfast in the fridge to re-heat in the microwave and a not-so-chaste morning and good-bye kiss.

An hour later, Sherlock woke himself with the urge to vomit yet again, but at least this time it kept down to only half an hour until he could get up and eat the promised breakfast,which he was disturbingly hungry for, this time keeping all of it inside. It looked to becoming a boring day without John and somehow even worse: without sex. But then Lestrade burst into the flat as Sherlock lay on his back on the sofa, fighting every urge to start an experiment because John wouldn't like it if he did.

 

Lestrade seemed hurried as he usually did when he consulted Sherlock. “Hey! Haven't heard from you in a while. Everything alright? Where's John?” the DI immediately asked, looking around in search of Sherlock's social half.

 

“John's out. _At work_.” Sherlock replied, wrinkling his nose. “Tell me you've got an interesting case!” he demanded dramatically, consumed by the sheer agony of having nothing to but to organise his mind palace and that he had already done during John's last shift two days ago.

 

Lestrade frowned at his tone, but only lightly, he knew Sherlock after all. “Yeah, actually I do. Will you come?” he asked, turning his upper body towards the door for emphasis.

 

Sherlock sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Well, I suppose you haven't noticed since I haven't left the flat for the last 4 weeks except for a doctor's visit three days ago, but now that you are here: Is it really that inconspicuous?! I know you can't smell me because you're a Beta, but- god, look at me! I'm turning into a Mycroft!” Sherlock exclaimed, angry that the DI actually thought him willing of gaining weight without reason.

 

“What?” the older man asked in confusion. As usual, Sherlock outwitted him and it was annoying how dim people in positions like this could be.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes to show his annoyance. “Just look!” he exclaimed, briefly pointing at his belly before quickly drawing back his hand to not point it out too much, not point it out to himself.

 

Lestrade gave him a scrutinising look. His frown turned into a surprised open-eyed stare. “Are you-.. Sherlock, you... John, did he-... What happened this last month?!” he settled for to ask, clearly not wanting to embarrass himself by asking the wrong question.

 

“I got pregnant.” Sherlock answered evenly, like a passing comment.

 

“... You what?”

 

“I'm with child.” he said again, looking at the Beta intently, willing him to understand this simple fact.

 

“You... you're an Omega?! Since when- I mean- HOW?!”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, bobbing his as he talked. “Believe me, it hit me as just as much a surprise.”

 

“And John- is he...?”

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

“Bloody hell... I don't suppose you'll come along for the case, then?”

 

“I don't think John would appreciate it, if I did, no.”

 

“No. No, he wouldn't... So, uh.. what will you be doing to keep boredom at bay?”

 

“I can always work from home.” Sherlock replied, hoping dearly Lestrade would give him cases anyway – he'd die of boredom without good occupation.

 

“Yeah, yeah, right you can..” Lestrade said, scratching the back of his head. “Bloody hell, you're pregnant!”

 

The Omega frowned again. “Yes, I believe I said that.” he said with a huff of annoyance at having to repeat himself _again_.

 

“Sorry, it's just.. _you_ are _pregnant_! I'd never have taken you for the kind to stay at home, baking the bread.” Lestrade murmured, starting to pace around a bit.

 

“Why would I be baking anything?” Sherlock questioned with a frown. He didn't understand what being with child and doing some cooking had to do with one another.

 

“No, it's just a- ah, never mind.. Anyway, uh, I really need your help on this one.. Shall I take photos for you?”

 

“Yes, please. Anything you've got, anything there is.”

 

“Well, that's not very much..”  
  


“What? Why not?”  
  


“We found our victim in strips..”

 

“Deliberate murder, then, probably a ritual, likely an Alpha or someone skilled.. Still, take photos, get me a blood sample and any foreign DNA there is to find!”  
  


“You have an idea already?!” Lestrade expressed his bewilderment.  
  


“One or two..” he dismissed as he sat up and started checking things on his phone.

 

The DI took a deep breath. “Well, let's just hope that pup in there is gonna get your intellect.” he said with a grin.  
  


“Let's hope it doesn't get my social skills.” he went on, raising an eyebrow.

 

Lestrade chuckled lightly, then turned to take his leave. “Oh, and, uh, Sherlock? You're looking good for a change. Couple of extra pounds suit you well. You look healthy.”

 

“... Thank you...”

 

 

John's steps were audible on his way up the stairs. Sherlock's insides screamed: his mate was back! This had to stop, it was consuming to much of his mind! “Hey, love, how've you been?” he asked, leaning down to kiss Sherlock.

 

Bored, lonely, angry, agitated, missing you, the whole 'my mate is gone and I need him back now' deal. “Quite fine, thanks.” he answered instead. “Lestrade was flirting with me.”

 

John had just been on his way to the kitchen, but now turned around to frown at Sherlock. “What?!”

 

“Yes, he came here, told me about a case, said looked 'good'..” he explained, eyes still focused on the pictures Lestrade had sent him.

 

“Sherlock, are you trying to make me jealous?”

 

Now, Sherlock looked up to frown back at John. “No, John, I am just telling you what happened.”  
  


“There's no way Greg would hit on you like that – not in the knowledge you're already taken. It's not really his style.” John argued, taking a few steps closer to his mate

 

“But I tell you: he did!” Sherlock insisted, not understanding why John refused to accept what has happened. Was he not attractive enough to get flirted at any more or what?

 

“Well, in that case, I'd probably better protect what is mine, huh?” John murmured deeply, straddling Sherlock's lap, cupping his face and kissing him intensely.

 

Sherlock moved his lips against John's, but then broke away. “I mean it, John, Lestrade said that-”

 

“Yes, alright, Sherlock, I get it, it's fine. He didn't mean it _that_ way.” John told him with amusement.

 

“Really? Are you sure?”

 

“I'm sure. Now let me snog you!” he whispered, mouth crushing to Sherlock's again and was warmly greeted.

They moved against each other for while, kissing slowly, changing the angle multiple times. There was that feeling again, like his insides were spinning and he about to throw up and he wanted more. He bit on John's lower lip lightly and pulled at it a little. John, in response, dragged his tongue along Sherlock's plush lower lip as soon as he was free. Sherlock opened up, let John in with a sigh and pushed firmer against his partner as they let their tongues dance.

 


	5. Being Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sherlock never ceases to love John, this whole being-pregnant-deal leaves him a little uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there!  
> Another chapter here :)  
> Last chapter didn't get /any/ comments and while I'm happy about kudos and bookmarks (thanks for those!), I find comments more helpful, you know because of the criticism stuff and all. Did you not like it? If so, you have to tell me! Positive feedback, negative feedback - it's all very welcome! I like to know what you guys think and I like to know when you think I could improve something.. So, yeah.. If it's not too much of a bother, do tell me what you like or don't like - help me make this worth you while! :)  
> Keep cool

 

Sherlock turned this way and that, eyeing his reflection with disgust. No matter what he did, he couldn't hide it. He couldn't even excuse himself with being pregnant because he simply didn't look it yet. It was too much to still look like his thin old self and too little to look like a baby-bump. His middle was nothing of its old muscular form; it was soft and wobbly fat. And to think John actually liked it – something he had accepted, but could still not comprehend.  
To think about how John had kissed it just this morning, had pushed his pelvis against his softer arse, nipped at their bond bite and gripped at the soft flesh on his hips while he thrust deep against that sweet spot- no, concentrate!

It was maddening how easily he was distracted these days. He was physically begging for sex at least four times a day!  
Where was his rational mind?!  
The worst thing probably was, that his hunger didn't seem to go away. Usually, he simply wasn't hungry and now he barely fit his trousers any longer – sure, they were slim tailored in the first place, but that was rather the sense behind tailored suits; now, when he buttoned them, the fat on his hip pushed out over the waistband and his tight shirts didn't make it any better.  
He didn't care about what others thought of him, he never had. He was born with this body, he knew and accepted how he was biologically destined to look this way – he only ever tried to look good enough for himself and he found tight shirts and slim tailored dark suits suited his dark curls and pale skin and eyes well. Being fit was a benefit his job brought and he wouldn't change anything only because he had presented as an Omega now. Alphas didn't like tall and muscular Omegas anyway. Well, except John, apparently. John liked to copulate with him nonetheless and when Sherlock got bored, he made use of that fact. Like the other day, when he had laid between his and John's armchairs, John working on his laptop, and he had lifted the device out of his lap, with his foot, and placed it on his own chair. John hadn't protested, just looked at Sherlock disbelievingly for a second and then had followed many minutes of John roughly pushing him over the wooden floor.  
Turning around, Sherlock smirked at the still visible marks of angry red all over his back.  
Focus, goddamned! Infuriating!!

He turned back to watch himself from the side again. If only he wasn't pregnant, he'd simply stop eating, ignore the hunger, but, no! there was a pup to feed. He looked disgusting! This wasn't 'healthy weight' anymore, this was being overweight!  
But no matter how much he tried to convince John, the Alpha simply wouldn't stop cooking extra portions, knowing full well, that Sherlock wouldn't even think about how much he ate because he was tuning off every time he started sating his hunger until there was no more food his fork could grab. No, of course John didn't stop – rather encouraged him further to stuff himself. Granted, an Alpha was supposed to be protective and nurturing when their Omega was pregnant, at least that's what he had read, but Sherlock knew it was that awful kink of his; he'd seen it, the beaming eyes when Sherlock filled his plate with whatever John had cooked; the hunger in his gaze when he touched Sherlock's abdomen, the kisses and nibs he gave the area, praising how well Sherlock fed their pup, how large it would get; the excited thrust on the rare occasions when John _wanted_ Sherlock's back to him - not that Sherlock ever wanted to decide positions, he knew little about all this after all - and then reached around, lightly pressing against the slightly hanging tissue.

It was oddly arousing how insane it drove John, but he still felt ugly and it got worse and worse every day. He was five weeks along now and he started to fear that, when this pregnancy was over, he would look like a beached whale, simply because John was practically stuffing his mouth as soon as it was empty... and he didn't even defend himself. Now he was looking at himself, like every other morning John was out early, and noted every fraction of an inch that his stomach progressed on pushing outward – there was a reason he made jokes about Mycroft weight after all! Soon, he dreaded, his older brother might throw food at him for revenge...

Well, there was no use in sulking about this now; he was hungry, he had to eat! John, ever the charming man, had left something in the fridge to simply re-heat. The greasy bacon Sherlock had discovered he loved among it.

After breakfast came a good long piece on the violin as had become his routine. He'd read that the child could very well hear what was going on outside and that the choice of music can influence it, although he couldn't imagine it having an impact, really – he couldn't remember his mother ever listening to classical music.

After minutes of playing he noticed it was Chopin his pup was listening to at the moment; he loved playing Chopin and it could only ever sound better when Mycroft played the piano to his violin – minimalistic number of instruments and yet rich in sound. There was one good thing about their parents' way of raising them: they were given the chance to learn to play an instrument of their choice and support could be taken for granted. Now he let the bow glide over the strings with satisfaction and his own pup was listening. If there was one aspect of parenthood he wanted to give to his child, it was this, music and the chance to play it, create it, live it because no matter how disordered a mind, how restless a soul, there was peace for everyone in some piece of music.

He lowered his bow, left hand remaining where it was; right hand cupping his abdomen; eyes still closed.  
“Your fathers love you. I say that just for you to know and to never forget. Whatever happens, however much you might hate us sometime – we will always love you and we will be there for you.” he said to the cells inside his body, feeling like it was a confession to make.

No, he wasn't an emotional person and he felt this hormonal rush was slowly ebbing away, leaving him to return further to his former self, but with the addition of John. John, whom he had loved since the beginning. Whom he had loved and never told until the last moment. John, who loved him back. Did the impossible.  
John wasn't like Molly Hooper. Molly knew him, yes, but not like John did and she never would. She was too shy, too expressive. Too petite for him to show her all of himself. Had she ever been confronted with his drug abuse, the long and many periods he had laid with the 'scum' as people called them, the 'fallen personalities', she would have hit him and been angry and shouted in his face, would have tried to make him feel guilty, when all there was in these times was the soundless cry for mercy on his never-silent mind.  
Not so John. John, when confronted, had been disbelieving, incredulous, he didn't take Sherlock for such a person because he had stepped into his life when things were going well, considering. He let Sherlock smoke, he was concerned and if he ever found him drugged, he would likely be angry, feel betrayed, but John would not hurt him for it because to John, Sherlock was a grown man, someone to take seriously, who made their own life-choices. Of course, in times like these John would probably hit him and hold him under quarantine if he ever shot up, but he simply wouldn't do that because John was there. John didn't fool him, didn't mock him. John saw him as a man. A man with a story to be told and kept secret. A man with priorities and quirks. A man with a life of his own, with privacy and drama because no one had ever listened to him. John would. That was all he needed – the knowledge that someone who mattered _would_ listen and it didn't matter that John wasn't very good with all this 'tell me what you feel' business because Sherlock might never tell him anyway and John would not ask, would just always stand there and give that smile when the situation arose; the smile that felt like home, _finally home_.

And now, here he was, carrying that wonderful man's pup. No, he wasn't an emotional person, but he wasn't dead inside. He just couldn't tell others because he rarely knew himself. But he knew two things for sure: He loved John and he loved their pup.  
He set the bow back on his violin and started to play Beethoven's Sonata no. 14, walking over to the window and looking at the busy life outside, playing for his child's ears inside.

 

When he finished the piece, he set aside his violin, flopping on the sofa, hands over his belly and mind drifting off to his mind palace, where he re-lived some cases with John while he waited for his return.  
He must have fallen asleep at some point because John shook him awake gently, face close to his own as he knelt in front of the furniture. He felt fingers brushing away some stray curls, but only had sleepy eyes for the smiling dark blue in front of him, the feeling of shaven skin under his palm and eager thin lips handing over the other's soul. His chest felt too tight again, like he was about to burst, but if it be, so be it.

 

“Have you eaten?” came the whispered question and internally, Sherlock laughed at the pity he gave himself because John would never cease to feed him while he was carrying a part of him, too.

 

Sherlock let on an amused smile. “I have eaten breakfast. All of it.”

 

“Sherlock, it's 6 pm! Please, tell me that isn't all you ate today.” John begged, eyebrows raising in concern.

 

“There was nothing else ready!” he replied in a fake huff.

 

John gave one of his 'you're an idiot' smiles and while they should be offensive to him, they really were nothing but adorable on John. “You know, it won't hurt you to make yourself a sandwich once in a while...”

 

Sherlock raised his hand to rub at his tired eyes. “I must have passed out in my mind palace.. I am literally doing nothing all day long and yet I never was so tired!”

 

“Well, your body needs energy to support that little one in there,” John said, his hand lovingly drifting over his now flat stomach, that would usually be concave in this position on his back, “so there is less for you left, which is why you have to eat enough.”

 

“John, I am already stuffing myself like a turkey for Christmas dinner, could you please stop fattening me any more!” he snapped back in a whisper, earning himself an offended stare from John. “John, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sn-”

 

“No, shut up- just... shut up.” the older man replied, getting to his feet.

 

“John...” Sherlock tried to stop him from walking away, and failed horribly. “Can I have some soup? Please?” he tried calming the Alpha, an apologetic look on his face.

 

John didn't answer that, but emerged from the kitchen a while later with two bowls of soup, one on a plate, which was the one he handed over to Sherlock to eat on the couch, attempting to avoid spills. However, when John placed the plate on the table next to Sherlock, the latter reached for his hand, bringing it to his lips, eyes closed before looking up at John, a silent plea for forgiveness in his look. John wordlessly cupped Sherlock's face, set down his own bowl and leaned down to kiss his mate properly. Sherlock sat up withdrawing his legs from the cushions to make room for John, who eventually sat down next to him and began to eat his soup.

“I'm sorry, if I'm being over-protective, Sherlock. I don't mean to force you to do anything.” the older man said after a while, honesty audible in his voice.

 

“I know, John. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.” Sherlock admitted, taking spoonfuls of soup rather hastily. He felt positively starved after more than 6 hours without food. His body was getting used to the amount of food he consumed.

 

“I'm serious, Sherlock. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, you have to tell me.” John urged, concern clearly visible on his face.

 

Sherlock frowned. “You like it.” he stated, not understanding why John would want to stop it if he was finding pleasure in it.

 

“Just because I like it, doesn't mean you have to go through it. I like you either way.”

Sherlock looked at John, frowning a little. John answered with a loving kiss, that Sherlock returned only too happily.  
The soup was quickly forgotten when Sherlock climbed into John's lap after having set both their bowls on the coffee table. John sighed happily as Sherlock grazed his tongue along the line of his lips, entering with slow licks against John's own waiting muscle.  
He leaned forward to make John lean back against the cushions, hands gliding down his Alpha's muscular front to unbutton his shirt. Doing the same for himself, Sherlock freed them both from their tops, Sherlock gladly so because his shirts were almost all painfully restraining him now, John's hands automatically coming to pull him closer by his hips, so that their upper bodies were flush together.

“I want you.” John murmured into his ear, looking Sherlock straight in the eye, pupils blown wide.

 

Sherlock hummed, “hmm, you're getting used to the amount of sex we're having, aren't you?” he grinned back, drawing small suggestive circles with his hips.

 

“Well, how could I not with you constantly begging for either sex or food? It's good for my stamina, though.”

 

“Mmh, maybe we should try both at the same time sometime.”

 

“Maybe. But maybe rather not with the soup.” John chuckled.

 

“Yes, maybe rather not,” Sherlock hummed, musing, “you would probably spill it.” he added, deliberate tease.

 

“ _I_ would?! I'm just going to sit here and let you do the work – can't see why I should spill it.”

 

“Oh, you think _I_ would spill something? _Me_?”

 

“Quite a lot of movement you'll have to do. You could try, but anything that lands on me is a favour you own me.” John said, a smirk spreading across his features.

 

“Nice try, John, but not even Mycroft can manipulate me. What makes you think you could?”

“I have sex.”

 

Sherlock stared back at John challengingly for some seconds. “Damn it.” he breathed a curse, mouth crushing down against John's, which curled up further in his grin.

 

“You won't eat the soup, though.” John decided as he broke away briefly.

 

“No.” Sherlock agreed, the light chuckle making his voice sound ragged.

Slowly he lowered his head again to take John's lips in for another passionate kiss, then another, then one that didn't want to end.

He felt John's hands coming around to cup his rear and Sherlock reached down cupped and massaged John's cock through his denim trousers, firing up the sparking desire he had seen in John's eyes just a couple of seconds before.  
John began to breath harder the more Sherlock stimulated him, the fabric of his trousers soon became constricting, though, so Sherlock glided off the sofa and undid the useless clothing, never taking his eyes off John's, which looked back at him in mild confusion but also great anticipation. The Omega slid out his tongue in a straight line over his plush lower lip and then back again instantly, giving John a clue of what he was planning to do. A smug grin was his answer to John's hungry, yet somehow unusual, expression and he pulled trousers and briefs down slowly when John raised his hips off the cushions,the fabrics pooling around his ankles as soon as he was seated again.

Sherlock placed his hands on the outsides of John's thighs, gripping gently as he kissed a trail up the insides. He varied between simple kisses, nips and sucks in certain areas and burying his nose in it as well in other areas, stimulating his nerves so that all zones felt erogenous, seemingly succeeding when John let out aroused grunts, his cock stiffening until it was fully erect. That was when he further ignored the pulsing member to bite and suck along his mate's hip bones, following the V-line and yet never touching the large penis that stood so proudly and unashamed right next to his face. With John's position he could and did reach back to the other's arse, his thin hands sliding under without resistance and John's questioning frown deepened when Sherlock pulled his pelvis forth, his upper body sinking into lower angles gradually as his midsection came close to lay flat on the couch and he seemed to realise what was happening when Sherlock lay his calves over his back so that his knees bend wherever the Omega decided to move with his shoulders.

 

“Sherlock..” John whispered, unsure of what to think about this.

 

Sherlock looked up at him calmly, caressing his thighs. “Trust me, John.”

And John did – the tension in his leg's muscles abated noticeably, even if not completely. That was to be expected, though, since positions like these, while they were common for Omegas, were unusual and somewhat unnatural on Alphas. But John trusted him, needed to trust him, just as Sherlock had trusted him when he had knelt in front of him, expected his Omega to act against instinct and not lower himself beneath him; not get the Alpha back into his domineering position.  
Now John was laying back, watching, a little anxiously, as Sherlock's head approached his most intimate area.

The Omega dragged the tip of his nose up and down John's erect member first, to calm him and signalise that he still had all the power to stop when he was getting too uncomfortable. Afterwards, Sherlock gave John's testicles a lick and a soft suck to slow down his progress downwards, keeping it calm and without rush. While he was still hovering over his mate's scrotum, his tongue lashed out to put momentary pressure to his perineum, muscles reflexively clenching, John grunting, his erection bobbing, Sherlock smirking. He went further down, his back bowing outwards almost painfully in the unhealthy position and additionally carrying the weight of John's restless calves as they tensed with each time he sucked the tissue against his lips.

 

“God, Sherlock!” he heard John pant heavily.

Oh, how he loved being a tease. He sucked one more time, pleased to note the tension back in John's legs, before his decided it was time to test his limits with the Alpha. He was rather surprised to find John not objecting, but arching off the sofa slightly when his tongue circled his tight ring of muscles, a taboo-area on an Alpha's body.  
He could sense John's nervousness and how he fought the urge to flip Sherlock around and punish him for treating him, the Alpha, like this, in favour for indulgence of the feeling of Sherlock's tongue wetting his opening.  
Sherlock us the saliva he left on and a tiny bit inside the resistant muscles and on his index finger as he licked it, to push said finger tryingly into the little hole.  
Immediately, he felt it clamp around his digit, heard John gasp in surprise.

 

He focused deeply and hoped his suspicion to be confirmed when he tried to send out emotions that, in a perfect measure of each, let John feel his inaudible question //shall I stop?//  
What he got back, and it made him smile, was John trying to send back a simple negation, in which he succeeded. For a couple of moments Sherlock left his finger there, the tip of it just breeching the tight entrance and he went back to giving his attention to John's large cock.  
They had slept together so many times, but except for that one time John had performed fellatio on him, they had done nothing but just that. He had always felt John's long and wide penis, of course, but he had never laid a real eye on it, too consumed by the unexpected pleasures sex had brought him. Now that he was, though, he noted that, even in comparison to his beta-sized cock, an Alpha's member was incredible; long and thick the mere girth seeming unhealthy to put into anyone's opening – hard to believe his own after was able to stretch enough to let that thing in.

 

“I have been told it's larger than average.” John informed casually, an annoyed look on his face, that Sherlock didn't understand.  
“Look, if it's too much, that's fine, just don't comment on it, please.” he added, his voice softening a little but his jawline still sternly tensed.

 

“I'm not- I wasn't thinking- I've never seen an Alpha's penis before, John.. I would have believed that was average, had you not told me..” he mused, inspecting the muscle in front of him even more eagerly, fascinated by the way it held its own weight in the air so easily, even bobbing every now and then.

 

“Could you stop staring at it, please?” John asked, suppressing the demand behind it.  
Interesting. Usually, an Alpha would be proud to have an oversized cock, but apparently John was rather ashamed of it, although he had never been shy about sex before.

 

“I'm sorry.” Sherlock said to appease his Alpha and simply leant forward to give it a hearty lick up the shaft, just to dip down into the slit, tasting the pre-come John had produced when his Omega had worked lower regions, the work now being picked back up.

John lowered himself down from his elbows again slowly, relaxing gradually as Sherlock's finger pushed in and out of his hole by inches and his lips circled the helmet, he hollowed his cheeks, drawing another huffed grunt from the Alpha. So, Alpha and Omega cocks were alike, then, same areas more or less sensitive than others. He just had to do what John had done on him and what he had imagined John to do ever since. However, he was aware that taking down all of John would be impossible, not even because of gagging. He had to cover up his plan to not expose John to his apparent embarrassment any further, so he let his free hand push up the muscular thigh and had it play with the Alpha's testicles for a moment, all the while teasing the tip of his cock, before he slid his slender fingers up to the base of it, massaging the skin that covered his knot.

Looking up with his eyes, he was glad to see John tossing back his head with an unbelievable moan, a hand falling over his face to cover it as if ashamed. Sherlock let him be, making remarks and commenting, questioning, shifting attention wouldn't work in John's favour, it seemed, so he just continued handling three tasks at once, his finger pushing in deeper now. John seemed so overwhelmed by this, it made Sherlock heart swell in adoration for this man. 'Three continents Watson' mewling like a teenager in his first rut as his Omega worked his cock and arse. To Sherlock it was beautiful.  
His mouth descended further on John's length, constantly sucking lightly as his massaging hand gripped the base firmly and he was relieved when, like this, John's whole length was covered, the man releasing a shuddering breath.

Sherlock worked his index finger in completely now, the perks of his long and thin fingers being, that he could go deep enough with just the one to search for, and find, John's prostate. As a reaction, John gasped heartily, his cock pulsing noticeably in Sherlock's mouth as he started a slow rhythm up and down on it. For many minutes he teased John like this, slow movements and feathery touches until he withdrew his finger, the Alpha whimpering at the loss, to open his own trousers and coat his index and middle finger in his own pre-come so he didn't have to break the contact to the other's cock.  
He positioned himself again, now inserting just the tips of the two fingers until John was squirming, grinding down to get them inside and Sherlock obeyed, thrusting them in more quickly and simultaneously picking up the speed with which he bobbed his head on John's member happily.  
The Alpha was fighting the urge to grip at Sherlock's hair, obviously so since he fisted the cushions with all the self-control he could hold up, while his head was tossing from side to side and he mewled and gasped and grunted and moaned helplessly, his legs tensing around Sherlock's body. He was close, apparently and the Omega wished to spare him any more teasing, so he squeezed his hand around the tissue that covered John's knot, hollowed his cheeks almost violently and pushed hard against his prostate simultaneously, John arching off the seat with a sharp cry.

Sherlock realised he hadn't been prepared for the amount of semen an Alpha would release when he couldn't take more than two shots of it and quickly drew away, reached around and grabbed for a handkerchief to catch most of the rest of it, while John panted, little whimpers finding their way out with it as he sagged back into the cushions.  
As soon as he was completely spent, Sherlock lay down the dirty tissue, swallowed the rest of the bitter fluid and climbed up the sofa, pulling John's trousers back up with him, and settled back into his lap.

“You seem surprised.” Sherlock noted, looking at John softly.

 

Promptly, the shyness was back. “Well, I've never been..” John cleared his throat. “No one ever dared to place their mouth on me, they just looked... terrified.”

 

“Terrified?!” Sherlock asked incredulously.

 

“I don't know, Sherlock, I just.. avoided offers at some point..” John stammered, averting his gaze.

 

Sherlock looked at him in total adoration. “Your shyness about this is very cute, you know that?”

 

John rolled his eyes. “Shut up!”

 

Sherlock leaned forward and turned John's head with his hand to kiss him fondly. “I just did it, though. I had your cock in my mouth and my fingers up your arse and you loved it!” he murmured, making John blush.

 

“You're my mate, I trust you.”

 

“That doesn't mean an Alpha is ready to let their Omega penetrate them anally.” Sherlock said, smug grin and raised eyebrow.

 

“Oh, shut up already!”

 

Sherlock obeyed and instead gave him another soft kiss. “I'm just trying to show you that it's all fine. Don't most Omegas even desire a large Alpha cock?” the Omega frowned thoughtfully.

 

“Not the ones I've met..” John replied, relaxing a little and draping his arms around his mate's body. He took a deep inaudible breath and looked up at Sherlock, mind eased. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome.” he answered cockily and they grinned at each other for some time. He reached behind himself and handed John his bowl of soup, looking him deep in the eyes as he said "You may feed me now," feeling a little ridiculous at behaving like a child, but if it pleased John, why worry about it.

 

And indeed, John's eyes went right back to their dark hungry stare, uncertainty and shame followed by deep passion and arousal as he started to feed Sherlock spoon after spoon of the lukewarm dish.

 

 

When they went to bed later that night, Sherlock shuffled close to John like he always did, although this time not with the intention of gaining sex from it. John threw his arm around him happily, kissing him lovingly until sleep was gripping at the pregnant man.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry to bother you again, but I have a spontaneous question: would you like me to elaborate on John's kinks a little bit? I mean not only his pregnancy kink because obviously that's going to happen anyway, but what about his feeding kink? Like that like I do? Interested in some kinky sessions? Let me know, please :)


	6. From A to B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complications can upset an Omega. Some Omegas are dysfunctional, however, and deal with it their own way.

Pain. Wrong. Something was wrong and it was making itself known by wrecking Sherlock's body with cramping muscles in his abdomen. It got worse and it didn't seem to know how to end. A grunt escaped his throat, he finally opened his eyes. Something was odd, but his sleep-addled brain couldn't piece it together yet. His arse felt wet. Cramping in the abdominal area, slick around the after – he couldn't be in heat, he was pregnant already! He threw the blanket over John's sleeping form to see for himself what the source of this unnameable pain was.

 

“John..” he muttered, the information not having quite caught. Until now. “John!” he shouted, shaking his mate awake. “JOHN!”

 

Finally John stirred awake, his mate's unrest influencing him more than his shouts. Except it wasn't unrest. It was... panic? Yes, panic, John and you need to catch up right now! “Sherlock? What's wrong?”

 

“John, do something!” Sherlock ordered as John blinked his eyes open to see.

 

“Oh, fuck!” John exclaimed, looking at the puddle of blood forming between Sherlock's legs.”FUCK!”

 

Sherlock saw John grab for his phone on the night stand on his side of the bed in his peripheral vision, his focus staying on his tainted trousers. “I'm losing it, John, aren't I?”

 

John was dialling someone, presumably an ambulance, and crawling back to him. “Sherlock, I need you to stay calm.” he tried to say in a comforting voice and failing spectacularly.

 

“I'm losing it. I'm losing the pup! I _knew_ something was wrong!”

 

“Sherlock, calm down!”

 

“HOW ON EARTH COULD I CALM DOWN WHILE LOSING MY PUP AND HAVING MY MATE FREAK OUT RIGHT NEXT TO ME?!”

 

John draped his arms around Sherlock as the call was finally answered. “Hello? Yes, we need an ambulance. 221B Baker Street. My mate is possibly having a miscarriage. Yes, thank you.”

 

“'Possibly'?! Really, John?! Look at the blood, I'm losing our pup!”

  
“Shh. Sherlock, calm down, please. See, I'm calming down, too. Everything's alright! All will be well.” John whispered in agitation, drawing Sherlock close and rocking him gently as he would a child. Their child. The child _he_ was _losing_.

 

“It's not though, is it? I'm going to lose it. It is already dead, isn't it?” John was kissing his temple, brushing sweaty locks from his forehead and tears from his cheeks. Stupid omega nature. It would be easier to not care right now.

 

“We don't know that, love-”

 

“It's that abnormality we saw in the ultrasound, it _has to be_!”

 

“Calm down!”

 

“ _I'm losing our pup_!”

 

John grabbed his face and turned it to look at him. Dark blue was staring at him intently spelling out thousands of words and yet telling Sherlock nothing. “Listen to me. Whether or not you lose this pup is irrelevant now, Sherlock. _You_ need to be safe... And- and _if_ we lose this pup, then we'll try again if you want to and feel ready and if you don't or can't, there's always adoption and- and if this whole 'children-business' isn't what you want after all, that's fine, too! I'm not angry... wouldn't be if you did lose it, okay? I love you.”

 

“I love you, too... I love our pup, John, I don't want to lose it!”

 

“Shh.. Neither do I, but if that's what's happening right now, there might be nothing we can do to save it. Remember how we talked about this? It's okay.” John tried to calm him, but couldn't he see what was happening?!

 

“John...” Sherlock whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes. John simply held him, comforted him by being present.

 

It took the paramedics long and torturous minutes to finally arrive and when they did, they asked John to step away – how could they take his mate away in a situation like this?! Only upon explaining he was a doctor was John allowed to assist, hold Sherlock's hand, kiss his forehead and hold one of his legs as they were shoved apart.

“Have you been to the toilet recently?” the Beta man between his legs asked as he cleaned the area as best as he could under the constant blood-flow and Sherlock shook his head, doing his best to keep composed and not let on too much of the hurt and fear he was feeling.

“Do you feel like you have to?” Again he shook his head.

“Alright,” he said, ordering the other men to set Sherlock's legs back down, ”Mr. Holmes, your after is neither swollen nor dilated, only reddened. As long as you don't excrete any larger clumps, I don't see your pup in necessary danger, however, I would advise you to see your doctor as soon as possible. When is your next regular check-up?”

 

Sherlock couldn't find it in himself yet to speak, so John, after a quick glance to his mate, did so. “Next week.” he informed, settling back down besides the Omega and carding a hand through his sweaty curls.

 

“Alright, I will ask you to try to move it up to this week, if possible tomorrow. Now, the bleeding should stop sometime within the next 5 minutes, if it doesn't, call again and we will directly transport you into a hospital. As I said, there seems to be no direct harm on your pup, but your doctor will have to make for a clear vision on that.” the mid-aged man informed in a kind but clinical tone.

 

“Thank you very much.” John supplied, Sherlock nodded his lowered head in gratitude as well.

 

“We will find our way out. Have a good night, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson.” the man said and both he and his quiet assistant shook their hands before leaving.

 

John immediately pulled his distressed mate closer, kissing his hair and caressing his back. “See? All is fine.. It's alright, Sherlock.. We're alright.” he said, brushing through his curls, concentrating on their bond to let Sherlock feel his love and affection.

 

The Omega didn't say anything, just blocked their bond out of his mind, shutting John out.

No words could have possibly described what he had felt that night. It wasn't just fear for their child, it was insecurity about himself. His doctor had said that, with a young biological cycle like his, there should be no complications despite his own age. One time, just one time he wanted to be good, make someone proud, be _normal_. He couldn't have John know, though – he would want to talk and either of them knew that neither of them was good at that.

Maybe he wasn't suited to be a parent after all, much less the mothering one.

The men had said it to be unlikely he lost it now, but what did they know about his medical past? To be fair, it wouldn't come as a surprise, if all the drugs had killed his insides so far, so that he couldn't properly carry. One hears about these kinds of complications all the time, right?

There was nothing, that could have possibly have described what he felt.

 

 

The next morning, when John stirred, they looked at each other and could tell that neither of them had slept, but both had pretended to.

Sherlock stayed silent throughout breakfast and John didn't try to bring him to eat more than a single slice of bread, jam anything but generously spread on it.

He didn't watch hungrily as Sherlock fought to do up his buttons on his shirt or the button on his trousers; simply pretended to be occupied with his own clothing.

There was a short moment, when they were waiting for a cab, that John turned to him to say something.

 

“Look, Sherlock, I honestly don't know what it is you are feeling at the moment, but let me tell you, I can very well imagine.. Whatever comes out of this appointment, _it's all fine._ I am here, by your side, where I belong, and I won't go away unless you want me to.” he said, his eyes flashing with honesty.

 

Sherlock's eyes jumped around, looking for something to deduce, something that would distract him and he knew how obvious it made his uneasiness, he knew John knew.

 

 

It wasn't until they were sitting in the doctors office that Sherlock found his words again.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson! Now, I am a little worried here, you registered as an 'emergency'?” Dr. Field said as she entered the room, sitting down in front of them.

 

Both men waited for a minute, either willing the other to say something, until John gave in and took over. “Yes, well, yes. There was an incident last night. Sherlock was, er, he was.. bleeding and we had some paramedics take a look and they said that, at that time, it didn't seem the pup was in direct danger, but we should go see you as soon as possible anyway.” the Alpha explained.

 

“I see.. Mr. Holmes, how strong were the cramps, would you say, on a scale from 1 to 10?” the young woman asked, directing her gaze entirely to Sherlock now.

 

“They were.. bearable.” he answered, his voice raspy from the lack of use. “No, it was.. the physical pain wasn't the problem, it was more.. there was just so much blood..” he breathed out, turning his face away from John.

 

“Hmhm. Now, I'm taking from your profession, that you are not likely to be squeamish around blood, which would mean you're more concerned than frightened.” there was a pause in which she looked at him, he looked away and John did they same to not push him. “Mr. Holmes, I assume the paramedics have asked you about your excretions?”

 

“Yes, there were no larger clumps that would suggest I have lost it yet.”

 

“But the bleeding has stopped?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“One last question. How often do you copulate on a daily basis?”

 

“Four to eight times.”

 

“Daily?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Alright. Now, if you would follow me, please, I will have a look at you now to determine what has happened and if your pup is ok, yes?” she asked calmly and they all got up and moved to the examination room.

 

As he was laying there and the gel was spread on his abdomen, he couldn't hold back any longer. “I know it doesn't appear on my files, but I have a serious history with drug abuse, how high are the chances that I miscarry because of it?” he blurted out, earning a look from John he couldn't name, located somewhere between concern and surprised disappointment. But John knew about this, he shouldn't be surprised.

 

“Oh, well..” she started, clearly taken by surprise herself. “In that case, Mr. Holmes, chances are rather high, depending on the exact amount and kind you have been doing.. But so far your body seems reasonably healthy, which could be a side-effect of your secondary gender having washed through you, cleaned up this and that. Omegas tend to have a good self-resolving system. You won't go without long term effects, that's for sure, but you might be lucky and fairly well reconstructed.” she explained, lastly switching on the machine and turning it away from their eyes, clearly wanting to prevent unprepared shock and drama.

The men looked at one another at last, John taking and holding Sherlock's hand firmly.

 

The doctor made a few humming noises before handing him a tissue to clean himself. She then locked his feet on these.. pedestals to take a look at his opening, gentle but foreign fingers invading his most private zone. He didn't like it. Couldn't John do it?!

 

“Right, so! I am happy to bring you good news: You haven't miscarried. What _has_ happened, is that you dropped another ovum, likely a reaction to the high amount of sex you are having after your cycle has just begun. Your body is confused.”

 

“So am I. What does that mean, I 'dropped another ovum'? I wasn't in heat.”

 

“Sometimes, with a newly formed cycle and an exuberant amount of copulation, an Omega can conceive even outside of heats. If an Alpha is found and bonded with, the constant stimulation can cause an ovum to drop. Luckily this one hasn't been fertilised, but was flooded out of your body again after it 'expired', if you so like. That is what happened yesterday night. That is what the bleeding was.”

 

Sherlock sank back into the examination-chair, releasing a deep breath. “So, I'm not losing the pup?” he breathed.

 

The doctor hesitated shortly. “No. Now.. I got more good news.. The abnormally large dot we discovered in your last ultrasound? It's not an abnormality. Not as such.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“The two of you should consider buying equipment times four.”

 

“I am not sure I get your meaning.”

 

“My meaning is, that you are pregnant with quadruplets. First pregnancies with multiple pups aren't uncommon, Mr. Holmes, though I thought at your age that might not be the case..”

 

Sherlock looked at her for a moment. Just looked. He felt dumbstruck. Utterly thoughtless. Until his gaze shifted to where John was staring back at him. Four. Not one. Four. Four squirming, spitting, demanding, crying, kicking, pooping... things. At once.

 

“I'll leave you to it for some minutes.” the brunette excused herself, exiting the room.

 

John stared back at him still. Eventually, he blinked, took a deep breath and talked. “Sherlock.. I can understand if you think that is.. too much.. too complicated..” he muttered, apparently unsure what it was he wanted to say. There was no judgement in his tone, just the numbness of surprise and shock. Clearly he wanted to leave it to Sherlock to say more.

 

The Omega frowned lightly. “We can't do it. Can we? I mean, can we?” he asked seriously.

 

“Honestly, Sherlock? I don't know. It would be expensive, time-consuming, exhausting.”

 

“We don't have to worry about money, I can work at home and am generally a rather energetic person, although I realise that the last weeks might not have been the best of examples for that...” he mused, both hands unconsciously coming to lay on his middle, shielding it, protecting the hint of life inside. “I didn't want to lose one pup. This doesn't change just because there is more of them now. I want us to try, John.” he decided, looking into John's eyes demandingly.

 

“If that is what you want.. We'll manage somehow, I guess.” John replied and folded his hands in his lap. “I'll just work extra hours for as long as possible and-”

 

“No. John, listen to me. There is no financial worries.”

 

“I'm not going to live off your family's money, much less your brother's!”

 

“You Alphas are much too proud..”

 

“Yeah, you aren't exactly modest yourself, you know?”

 

“That's what makes me different from most Omegas.” he smirked and John returned the expression. It felt nice to see he could still do this; manipulate others without feeling guilty or any of that idiocy. It made arguing with John a lot easier.

 

“I still won't live off your brother's wealth.” the Alpha grinned as Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath. “You might be a sociopath, but I still have my pride. Can't change my opinion about certain things.. Not anymore.”

 

“I changed your opinion about being with a man.”

 

“I said 'certain things', you twat.” John said with narrowed eyes, leaning down to kiss his mate.

 

“Oh, I see you have made a decision, then?” came the kind voice of Dr. Field and they broke apart, John smiling at her shyly. The John-kind of shy, that wasn't really shy, but rather John.

 

How he loved that smile. “Yes, we have.” he informed simply.

 

John waited for a moment and realised there was no further words to be expected from Sherlock, despite the doctor's waiting expression. “We are going to keep them.” the Alpha therefore added.

 

“Good, very good. Now, I assume you are aware of complications of raising quadruplets, the pregnancy, as can be expected, will also be more difficult. Especially because, as I just saw on the monitors, here is a picture by the way,” she handed them the copy, their looks immediately falling towards the black and white, “the pups appear to be rather big for their stage. I can't say for sure, of course, but as it looks now, I would expect them to make it full-size, which means that you can only hope they'll leave their cosy nest early. Anyway, you will experience immense pain in you back, legs and especially your feet, the further you progress. Either way, I would strongly advise you to consider a caesarean section because if they make it full-term, full-size natural birth is as good as impossible, even for an Omega, to endure. I won't command anything, Mr. Holmes, I am only trying to give advise and be of help.”

 

“Yeah, we appreciate that.” John said for both of them as Sherlock, again, didn't answer.

 

 

On the cab ride John seemed twitchy and Sherlock himself felt a strong pull towards the Alpha, only the picture in his hand stopping him from climbing over to the other side of the car. Four pups. _Four_. None of them in danger.

As soon as they were back in the flat, John got unusually clingy. He had Sherlock against the door, his nose in the crook of his neck. “Please, Sherlock, can I..?”

 

“What?”

 

John frowned and looked up at Sherlock, only then realising that Sherlock honestly didn't know what John wanted to do, although he had a strong hunch that he wanted it himself as well.

The only answer John gave was sensual nuzzling of his jawline, down over every part of the Omega he could reach until Sherlock stood there, undressed and John snogging him senseless.

 

 

 

A day later. When Sherlock re-entered the living room, John was still sitting there on the couch, laptop absorbing his concentration. “Could an Omega impregnate an Alpha?”

 

John looked up in irritation. “What?”

 

“Is it possible for an Omega to impregnate an Alpha?” Sherlock asked again, more persuasively – was he not speaking clearly?

 

“Well, yes, technically. The reproductive organs and mechanisms are still intact in some, but really that would depend on the genetic-”

 

“So I could, technically, impregnate you?”

 

“Sherlock, why the hell would you want to impregnate me?!”

 

“Never said I did. I merely asked if it is possible.”

 

“Well, then, why do you want to know?” John asked with a frown, he obviously wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but had a hunch he wouldn't like it there.

 

“Because I want to do it, obviously.”

 

John pursed his lips, taking deep breaths. So this was the same level as calling him stupid? Why? “Sherlock, why would you want to do that?” he repeated his question.

 

“Well, we both enjoy me being pregnant.” the Omega answered as if that explained everything, which, to him, it did.

 

“That doesn't mean I want to be pregnant as well.” said John with a slightly disgusted expression.

 

“But you do.”

 

“No, I don't.” he refused, looking at Sherlock disbelievingly. “Do I?!” he asked in exasperation because if Sherlock deduced he did, he very likely did.

 

“You haven't come to terms with that yet? I- I thought you..” he replied hurriedly, drifting off as he had to re-calculate what to say to not upset John now.

 

“No...”

 

He took a little pause still, as his brain tried to supply a fitting reaction. “Well, now that that's settled, when do we get ourselves tested?”

 

“What?! No, Sherlock, no. It's not settled and I'm not going to be pregnant. Not while you're carrying and just generally not.”

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“But-”

 

“No!” John said strictly, wanting to end this argument as quickly as possible. “Not happening, you hear me?”

 

Sherlock pouted and let himself fall into his chair, stretching his legs out on John's chair to signalise that he was not welcome to come sit opposite him. John, however, didn't seem very impressed. He was serious, then. Not giving in, standing tall to prove a point – John only ever did that when he was being really serious about something. It didn't work, then. Ah, he hated it when something didn't work as planned – miscalculations weren't really his favourites. John was supposed to feel bad for having refused his wish and making him upset, not stubbornly sit there and ignore him!

He peaked over at his mate just to see John looking back over his laptop with the same stern expression, but with the soft touch he constantly carried when near the Omega.

Sherlock cursed internally and got up almost violently, stomping over to where the Alpha still sat and shoved the computer away to stretch out over his lap like a cat before rolling in on himself a bit. He still pouted and crossed his arms in emphasis, however.

 

“You know love,” John began as one of his hands carded through the dark curls, massaging the scalp, “it's not so much that I resent the idea of having you take me or even, though I don't particularly fancy it as far as I know, carry your child, should that even be compatible between us. No, it's you trying to decide my life all by yourself-”

 

“You told me keeping this pup, or rather _pups_ , was entirely my decision.”

 

“Yes, Sherlock because that is about your body. I would never make a decision about your body without your consent and I expect the same of you vice verse. I know it's difficult for you, this whole thing about empathy and thinking outside the 'I-box', but we're a team, now more than ever and you can't deny that you must be feeling some of me washing over on to you through our bond.” John came to a halt there, giving Sherlock time to process what has been said and give it a quick thought. “Let us get these through and then we can still see and decide whether or not we even want more, okay? I'm surprised, well, no, not really surprised, by how quickly went from freaking out because you thought you were losing a pup to wanting to impregnate your Alpha mate.. But I definitely won't have this situation more complicated than it already is, Sherlock, we're going to have to take care of four children at once and it won't be just feed them, play with them and bring them to bed. It'll be a lot of feeding at different times, cleaning, changing nappies and trying to somehow get them into a sleeping rhythm that will still leave us awake most nights. I won't be home a lot once you are out of hospital-”

 

“Hospital?!”

 

“Yes.. where did you think you were going to have them?”

 

“Not in a hospital.”

 

“Caesarean section, Sherlock, not exactly a home-birth method.”

 

“Did you just decide about what will happen to my body?”

 

“Sherlock, did you listen to Dr. Field? It will be almost impossible for you to have them naturally.”

 

“We'll discuss this later.” he decided, he didn't want to fight now, not in his position and with John's hand moving so hypnotically on his scalp.

 

“Well, anyway. I will go back to work as soon as possible, just like I will leave as late as possible, and I will work as many shifts as possible- no, _no_ , I will _not_ live off your brother's wealth!

Of course, I'll help you as much as I can whenever I'm home, but in contrast to you, when you're not on hormones, I mean, I do have to sleep and eat..”

 

Sherlock turned around, now facing John, head still cradled in the other's lap. “Do you think I'll ever return to normal again?”

 

“You mean _your_ normal? Do you want that?”

 

“Contrary to what people might believe, I actually liked being different, socially incompatible and strange. Mental dysfunctions and psychological illnesses do not necessarily mean disadvantages to the 'infected'. I was protected from feelings like emotional pain, angst and, in general was shielded from deep emotionality. Now I'm worrying myself sick about children that aren't even born – I usually don't even care about children. Being 'the heartless bastard' kept me safe from idiots and only the compatible people were even able to stay around me, endure me. That's how I knew it was you, John.. It has always been you, from the very first moment, since my very first deduction about you. You weren't repelled, you weren't even angry, although I revealed your family's dysfunctionality, your weaknesses in the blink of an eye and in the presence of another person. It's always been you. John, I never was interested in sexual activity, as you know, but not just because I hadn't presented, but I didn't even have the barest desire to experience any of it; now I can't let go.. Even as a friend, you have... _burned_ your place into my heart or however people say things like these. It is hard to win a sociopath's trust; much more so to stir their feelings in a way you did and still do with me. I have to warn you, however: If a sociopath forms a bond of any sort with someone, they don't let go.”

 

John huffed out an amused breath. “Don't you think that's a bit of a late notice?” he asked, leaning down to kiss Sherlock's temple.

 

“I mean it, John. I'm not going to let you go. Ever.” he said as in warning, staring up straight at him, showing his seriousness.

 

John looked down unimpressed. “I don't want you to.” he whispered and for once, Sherlock was glad he had miscalculated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!  
> So, I am basically amazed and flattered by the amount of comments the last chapter got. I know first hand that sometimes it's just reading and moving on to the next story, but it really helps an author's confidence AND writing to get some feedback for their work because it really is /work/ and receiving no literal feedback can be really depressing because it feel as if no one can value the effort, which leads to thinking that the content or technique is too bad.  
> So, I was and still remain happy to receive both positive AND negative feedback from you guys :) It helps me get to know what you like and what not, what I can improve and what I should set as my trademark writing ;)  
> Yeah, so, if you can spare the time and care (uh, have I gone for rhyming now?!), please do keep throwing those words of love at me, show me whenever I misspell or miss words or whatever and help me make this worth your while!  
> Keep cool :3  
> (And, yes, no notes at the beginning this time. I figured it wouldn't do much good on the atmosphere^^)


	7. Sorry, I'm just an Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is an Alpha with alpha urges. Sherlock disapproves of sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bit of feeding in this one

“For God's sake, Sherlock! Can't you at least try to help for once?!” John shouted, losing his patience at last.

 

Sherlock simply looked up from where he was sprawled out on the couch. “I'm pregnant, John, I'm not supposed to do hard work.” he gave as a lazy reply, which seemed to only infuriate the Alpha even more.

 

“You're not even a full two months along and picking up a couple of papers or washing the dishes _is not_ hard work, you arse!” the older man continued to grumble.

  
Sherlock yawned heartily and simply went to push a rush of unrest through the bond. He had learned rather fast how to block it out or regulate the intensity of emotions John would receive from him and just recently he had discovered the benefits of sending out fake markers. He could feel John calm down involuntarily, the natural response to his distressed mate. Sherlock could barely contain the smirk at his mate's annoyed huff as he knew Sherlock did this purposefully – he had noticed that the Omega had figured that particular bit out when Sherlock had coldly switched through all kinds of emotions while laying on the sofa with a lazy expression. It had driven John mad how he had sensed contentment, then loss, coming to love, scratching at envy, leading to boredom and finally settling on a bark of laughter at John's disturbed look at what was happening with his mate. In response, the Alpha blocked him out for the rest of the day.

Yes, John was smart, smarter than most people. It didn't really surprise Sherlock, that he had figured out how to block the other out only two days after he had been experiencing the same for the first time – the night they thought he had miscarried. Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine and he felt sick to his stomach, the sheer idea of losing only one of their pups was enough to make him feel so low, he wanted to hide in some corner, get on a trip and never see the daylight again.

It was painful how much he had attached he was to lives, that he hadn't even met yet.

 

Apparently, he had forgotten to detach himself because John was eyeing him with deep concern, having stopped in his movements and standing there, in the middle of the room, two sets of dishes in his hands. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

 

The Omega quickly drew out of his thoughts, blinked lazily. “I'm just messing with you. I thought you had got that by now.”

 

“That's not your mocking face. What's wrong, love, what have you been thinking about?” the other asked, placing the items back down on the coffee table, then rounding it to kneel in front of his mate.

John was too good for him. He was concerned and forgiving and Sherlock was just toying with him like he was his personal entertainer. He humbly shut his eyes as the familiar hand carded through his hair. “Still last week's incident? I know, Sherlock... but you've got to let that go. Nothing happened, hm? We're all fine, love.”

 

“I'm not stupid, John, I know we are.” he snapped back. He didn't mean to snap! There was a pang of hurt in his chest and he knew it wasn't his own, but a second later, it was gone and he was only half-complete again. The hand left, the warmth left and there was only the clattering of porcelain. Sherlock rolled over to face the back of the funiture.

 

Shortly after followed a knock at their door and a chirpy “huhu!” and Mrs. Hudson's heels clicking over the dark wood. “Oh, are you two alright?” she asked in the direction of the kitchen.

 

“Not a good time, I'm afraid, Mrs. Hudson.” John answered resentfully.

 

“Oh, what is it this time? Did he leave body parts in the fridge again?! I am _not_ going to clean that mess up again-”

 

“No, Mrs. Hudson, no body parts in the fridge. Nothing the like.” the Alpha answered through gritted teeth.

 

“Ah, you're arguing about your feelings again, huh?” she asked, then continued in a whisper, “John, you have to talk to him!”

 

“Yeah, I know, I tried- I,” the man snapped back, then stopped, remembering who he was talking to, “I will.” he said firmly, resuming his work on washing the dishes.

 

Right when the elder woman left, there was another pair of footsteps on the stairs, considering weight and pace, it was Lestrade. He was right. “Hello, John,” he told the kitchen,” hello, Sherlock! How's the case going? I need results.”

 

“It was the brother's girlfriend!” Sherlock told him in an annoyed manner.

 

“What?! How could an Omega chop up another person?! And how do you know?” Lestrade asked disbelievingly.

 

“She is an athlete, she has the strength. I'm surprised you didn't notice the fact that she wore no lipstick, despite the rather large collection of colours and brands.”

 

“Maybe she collects but doesn't wear them?”

 

“No, they were all used _at least_ 4 times! Didn't you see her chewing on her bottom lip? Someone wearing lipstick regularly doesn't move their lips in that fashion – she was anxious, has been for a couple of days. She tasted the lipstick every time she wore it off her lips and simply stopped putting it on. Breaking a habit like this takes a few days, if not weeks. When I saw her first, she was still wearing some though, so there must have been a trigger _after_ the killing-”

 

“Wait, hang on!” John intervened, storming out of the kitchen. “You were out for a case?!”

 

“John, you can't have me locked up in here at all times!”

 

“I will, if I have to!”

“Stop treating me like an object!”

 

John froze in shock and for a very brief moment, Sherlock wondered if he'd been too harsh.

“I feel you two need some time alone here.. I'll come again later then..” Greg muttered, backing out of the room that _reeked_ of angry Omega and worse: angry Alpha – wouldn't want to challenge him.

 

“Is that what you feel like? An object? Is that what this bond is to you: the act of possessing you?” John shout-whispered as he always did when he was close to losing his temper and which was so much more dangerous sounding than if he really shouted.

 

“No, John,” Sherlock protested, “not the bond makes me feel this way, _you do_!” he retorted, eyes fixed on the Alpha sternly.

 

Sherlock could feel how John fought his Alpha against the challenge this kind of stare stirred inside him. “Go on. _Tell me_. Tell me it's my fault. It _always_ is.”

 

Sherlock tried at a “I _love_ you, John, but I'm an individual. I agreed to set down work for the last couple of months and to not pursue the dangerous ones. That does _not_ mean that you can keep me locked up in here!”

 

“For God's sake, you were panicking at the possibility to lose our children _last week_ and now you're going after a suspected _murederer_ who _chopped her victim up_?!”

 

“My mind needs occupation!”

 

“It seemed fine until now!”

 

“Adjusting to the new situation kept me distracted at first, but at some point, I got used to it, at least to an extend that made further thought to it meaningless. It was either starting to work cases again and investigating in _harmless_ situations and environments or getting bored. Do you really want me to get bored?! _Hormonal and bored_?!”

 

“I just want you to be safe!”  
  
“I _was_ safe!”

 

“How did you know?!”

 

“Because she is an Omega who killed her boyfriends Alpha sister because she blackmailed him. There was no reason for her, an unlikely suspect to the police, to attack another Omega, especially not a stranger.”

 

“How could you have known? You said you only figured it out after seing her a second time!”

 

“No, I _knew_ it was her all along, but I now have the evidence.”

 

John turned his head away and took many deep breaths. His eyes fell back on Sherlock and, again, their stern looks met. John hated Sherlock being right, especially since he thought it fed Sherlock's oh-so-giant ego. “You are _not_ going out for cases again-”

 

“John, I _will_ go out for cases!”

 

“No, listen to me. You are _not_ going out for cases again; not without me.” John decided firmly.

 

Sherlock frowned. “When are we supposed to do that?! In the middle of the night? John, you already work all day long and you do need to eat and sleep. And I am not willing to cut down on the time we have sex.”

 

“I'll fit it in somehow – I have done so far.”

 

“You are now working about twice as much!”

 

“I'll manage!”

 

“Could you stuff away your stupid alpha pride for a minute and just accept that we need support here!?” Sherlock bellowed and startled John with it. He stepped up to him, hands comind to each of the other's arms. “John, I love you dearly, but you alone can't provide for a family of six individuals _and_ keep _me_ sane. There were times you were struggling with raising your share of the rent and working cases with me. That's when you worked nine hours at maximum a day. How can you begin to think to feed six, work more than half of the day and work with me to keep me in my right mind? It's humanly impossible, John!” Sherlock almost pleaded for John to understand, to shed free from his pride and accept some help for the sanity of both of them. It was odd, Sherlock being the reasonable one out of the two of them. It needed to change soon.

John looked hurt, he _felt_ hurt. Betrayed. And, as John Watson often did, he did the unexpected. Sherlock had anticipated another great row, stomping out of the flat or _anything_ that marked John's anger. Instead, he slumped forward into Sherlock's arms, who reflexively embraced him and held him in a hug-like position. Looking down at the head against his chest, he saw the miserable creature that was John Watson. His John. The ever-fighting strong individual; the soldier. He'd never seen him give up on a fight; never seen him broken. Even when he had returned from war, PTSD, tremor and limb on him, he had still held himself strong and proud. Now, here he was: newly bonded, madly in love, expectant father and an emotional wreck.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. John knew that and was content with just being held for now.

“You'll talk to my brother.”

 

“What?!” John gasped incredulously, backing away in exasperation a little.

 

“I think it will help you see that there is nothing wrong with asking for help. Mycroft may be an alpha arsehole, but he has his reasons, as far as I know, and you're not one of them.” he said, trying to appease John, who was clearly not in the state to fight anymore anyway.

A long and elegant hand brushing along John's jaw to cup it softly. Instinctively, the Alpha leaned into the touch taking a whiff of his mate's calming scent as his wrist was right there next to the Alpha's nose. All that's happened, the stressed-out doctor still tried to look composed, eyebrows creased a little as the exhaustion showed itself in plain sight. “John,” Sherlock whispered, his free hand coming to coat the back of John's hand, laying it on his belly, “you are anything but incapable. You're an incredible Alpha and you know it. I am only too aware of your wish for independence, but at some point you have to accept that you simply can't do _everything_. Have you observed yourself sleep lately? You toss around for the better part of the night, only to curl up against me. The last time I've seen you like this, was the first few weeks we lived together. Please, do us all a favour and avoid either of us going mad.” Sherlock asked of him, leaning down to ask for permission on a kiss, which was quickly granted. “Now, feed and fuck me, my incredible Alpha!”

 

John snorted in amusement. “You're terrible with moods!” he whispered against Sherlock's lips, their foreheads together.

  
“Though this time it wasn't bad to destroy it, was it?”

 

“No. Not this time.” John murmured with a mild grin.

 

A strong hand found its way to the back of Sherlock's neck as John leaned in to kiss him. “I mean it, John. I'm hungry.” the Omega whispered between kisses.

 

“What for?”

 

“Anything, really. Anything and you!” he said in his lowest pitch, which John gave a deep growl to.

 

“Bed. Wait there for me.” the Alpha instructed and, with another kiss, watched his mate wander off into the bedroom.

 

Sherlock undressed immediately, inspecting his body in the mirror briefly. In the last two days, he had been able to observe a clear change in his belly's shape – it had started to get firmer and push outward instead of pooling around his hips like the jiggly fat that was slowly retreating.

John hadn't noticed yet, though. He'd been stressed and distracted most of the time and it was a very minor change after all. However, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be who he was, if he couldn't make use of it. He lay down with his back to the door and started to prepare himself until John walked in moments later.

As soon as he heard him, Sherlock twisted his upper body around to look at him innocently. As planned, John's gaze wandered to the point around which he had twisted: his belly. With this angle and the remnants of fat being stretched, the taut flesh stood out perfectly.

If Sherlock had been horny before, the quick glance to his mate's stirring erection made his own penis join in.

 

Sherlock turned around all the way now and settled for kneeling on the bed. “Ice cream?”

 

“Was the easiest, I figured. No crumbs, easy feeding..”

 

“Fine with me.” Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As long as we get a real meal later, I mean.” he added with a smug grin, drawing slow circles over the small bump that was his once concave midsection.

John growled appreciatively sliding onto the bed to let his hand join Sherlock's. “Careful. It's very tender at the moment.. the stretching hurts a little.”

 

“No wonder,” John breathed in arousal, “thin as you used to be..”

 

“Yes.. they're growing fast.. or maybe it's because there's so many of them..”

 

“Or maybe both?” John whispered, deciding to occupy their mouths another way – they should save the talking for when the bump was more visible, not ruin the perks of anticipation.

Sighing contently, Sherlock pushed John back against the headboard to sit there and straddled his lap, rolling his hips slowly against the Alpha's, who started to moan after only a few moments, his hand still on the Omega's belly, gliding along the lowest line, where the swell got the most obvious.

After undressing the older man, Sherlock carefully lowered himself onto John's cock.

“Shit, Sherlock, a little preparation?” The lack of proper preparation made it difficult, but all the more wonderful.

 

“Why bother?” he gasped as a response, attacking John's mouth again as he struggled to get him all the way in. He moaned at the delicious pain when he realised he wouldn't manage right away and instead moved up again, starting to very slowly ride John and taking in a little more each time he slid down. There was a moment he clawed to John's shoulders wincing as the Alpha's cock nudged against his prostate. “How did I never realise how big you are?”

 

“Usually, I am careful to prepare you properly.. fuck, you're tight...” John moaned, hands grabbing the ice cream carton as to not hurt his mate with them.

As soon as Sherlock was finally seated, he took a pause to get them both down again, his eyes falling on the creamy treat John was still clinging to.

The Alpha caught that look and moved the box between them, opening the lid and dipping the spoon into the now slightly molten cream. “Open up,” he instructed and Sherlock obeyed, taking the spoon in and releasing it empty.

The cold running down his throat felt nice actually and made him hum contently, the vibration running through them both until John offered him “more” and how could he refuse?

Sherlock let the first three spoonfuls pass his lips just so, but with the fourth, he started to move slowly on top of John, who growled his appreciation. The ice cream was laid down next to them, the contents already molten enough to be scooped out without having to hold the box for leverage, and one of John's hands came back up to caress Sherlock's belly ever so gently, careful not to hurt the sensitive skin and flesh, but with enough pressure to adequately feel the light bulge their pups were forming. A lustful moan escaped John's throat and he started moving his hips to the rhythm of Sherlock's – the well known rhythm they'd developed many couplings before; the unique rhythm of their bodies; the perfect rhythm they wouldn't find with anyone else.

Suddenly and without any clear context, John spoke. “I'm sorry, if I made you feel trapped or even useless. You are nothing like that and I don't have the right to do either to you. I'm just trying to keep you safe..”

 

Sherlock took the spoon from John's hand and scooped himself some of the ice cream, licking the metal clean and swallowing before he leaned forward, leaning his temple against John's and whispered into his ear. “I know. I appreciate your compliance, however – I missed my doctor on my cases.” With that, he leaned back again and filled the spoon another time, this time guiding the almost-liquid to John's mouth. The Alpha took it with a confused grin, understanding when Sherlock moved in for a deep kiss.

As soon as Sherlock opened his mouth, John's tongue darted out, accompanied by a longing moan and passed the liquefying sweetness over into Sherlock's waiting mouth.

It ended up messy, the liquid dripping from Sherlock's chin and running down John's chest, a short chuckle escaping them both. That was until it fell back to moaning and grunting and currents running through Sherlock's body as John hit his prostate. Again and again.

Sherlock began panting with exhaustion, thankful to be deliciously close to end by now.

“John! Johnnn!” he moaned. Biting his lips in an attempt to keep quiet, he lay his forehead against John's, looking him in the eyes with the torture of approaching bliss, which arrived just when John's calm expression fell to give way a similar one as Sherlock's.

He felt his hole practically sucking on John's cock until he was dry.

When he lifted himself off of his mate, he licked the bit of liquid ice cream off his torso, dragging his tongue up until he got a kiss.

They lay down afterwards, John holding Sherlock close. “I love you, John.” the Omega murmured and buried his nose in his mate's chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiyah! I know, this chapter isn't terribly long, but I'm drowning at the mo, so I hope you don't mind too much.. Tell me what you think! Any misspelled words or the likes: /please/ let me know! :)


	8. Mummy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise visitors and a considerable amount of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this isn't too long, but I've just had my last exam taken and, as you can imagine, I didn't have a lot of time or mind to put into this. That's the reason there's no smut this time, just fluff - I felt more like fluff.  
> Also: This chapter is, for once, more John's POV - it felt right this way :D

“Ah, hello, dear! You must be John! So glad to finally meet you!” the plump omega woman chirped as she patted his cheek on her way in.

 

“Uh, y-yeah, er, nice to.. meet you.. too.” he stammered in confusion as she walked past him, looking around the flat, but not like it was unfamiliar, but rather like she was searching for someone. After her followed an alpha man, hair just the same pale silver as his wife's, smile just as warm and comforting as hers. Well, as comforting as two strangers walking into his flat could be.  
They looked, and smelled, like a nice elder couple, a tone beneath their conjoined smells that was oddly familiar.

 

“Where is Sherlock, dear? Is he not home?” the woman asked in honest confusion, as if she'd been informed Sherlock would be here.

 

“He is in the bathroom right now- sorry, I don't think I caught your name..”

 

“Oh, that's because I didn't give it to you, dear.” the Omega said with a cheeky but lovely smirk. “Did Sherlock not tell you we're coming? That boy, always the black sheep, but we'd not swap for any treasure in the world-”  


“Mummy?!” Sherlock's deep voice rang through the flat, the call almost a warning. When his mate leaned around the corner, just out of the shower and apparently hastily dressed when he'd heard the voices.

 

“Wait,” John caught up, “Mummy?” he was confused. These people, this nice and lovely elder couple, the parents of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

 

“Sherlock!” the plump Omega practically purred, cocking her head and approached him with a stance that was clearly expecting a hug.

 

And indeed, Sherlock hugged her back, giving her cheek a small peck, then staring at John with eyes widened in annoyance. John frowned. When they parted again, Sherlock had a small smile on his lips and if these really were his parents, they'd see how fake it was, like people who really knew him did. His, apparent, father went over and they, too, hugged, though they passed on the kissing. “Well, John, I suppose you have just met my parents.” Sherlock said, louder than strictly necessary, to skip introductions. “How long are you going to stay?” he asked impatiently.

 

“Oh, but we just arrived, love! Why don't you make us a cup of tea, Sherlock, hm? We” she started moving, went to sit on the couch, “can get to know your mate a little better meanwhile. What do you say, _doctor_?” she winked at him.  
  
Her husband sat down beside her and motioned for John to take a seat next to him, which, reluctantly, he did, sitting there a little stiff with confusion.  
  
“So, John. Mycroft has told us a lot about you. A doctor and army captain? That is _honourable_! We couldn't have wished for a more fitting mate for Sherlock. He's always been a little terror, which shouldn't come as a surprise, all things considered. But when we heard he had presented after all, we were

 

 **gushing!** ” the couple answered in unison. John found that strangely endearing.

 

“Well, I think I see were gets his willpower from.” he quirked a smile. “I mean, you don't really seem like the omega stereotype.”

 

“Oh, my father was! But my mother was always a strong and confident woman, that is what she taught her girls and what I taught my boys.” she explained with a knowing smile.

 

“You.. taught them to be strong and confident women?” John joked and the Lady shook her head with an endearing chuckle, that was so very much like Sherlock's, he felt like he had finally found his family.

 

“Now, Mycroft and Sherlock always had something about them. We knew they'd turn out... 'different' when they were only children. After our first we had an idea what 'normal' would be like and they weren't that.” her husband now spoke, with a smile that betrayed his words. He should look disappointed, going by his words, but instead, he looked as proud as any alpha parent would.

 

“Your first? You have another son?” John asked curiously.

 

The elderly woman answered him again. “Yes, Sherrinford. Not a genius like the others, mind you, but a heart larger than life! He was, so to say, the heart to their brains. We were always proud-”

 

“Tea.” Sherlock snapped aggressively, interrupting her pointedly by setting down a tray with empty cups and a steaming kettle with a pang. Six eyes fixed on him, four of them seriously surprised, John's, however, with a questioning frown.

 

Sherlock went ahead and served them all a cup, pulled up a chair and sat down facing them. “So,” Mummy Holmes spoke again, “I hear you two bonded right during Sherlock's first heat?” she said to change the subject.

 

John blushed a little and cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, but- but it wasn't in the.. heat of the moment, as they say..” he confirmed shyly. “We, ah, we talked and, uh, we discussed and we agreed. Kind of.” he stammered, directing his look at Sherlock, searching for help.

 

“Oh, don't worry, dear!” the silver-haired woman said before Sherlock could say anything. “I trust an army doctor is quite capable of keeping a reasonable amount of control and I know if Sherlock hadn't wanted this, you wouldn't have been able to bind him, heat or no. He might be the only Omega in the line of our children, but we raised him just like his alpha brothers. He doesn't get ordered around unless he wants to.” she smirked.

John nodded. “Is that why you made tea?” he asked, looking at Sherlock. His own smirk was answered by an unamused look.

 

 

 

“Really, Sherlock, we are so glad we finally got to see you again and to meet your mate. And we are so excited,” she announced, hugging John and kissing his cheek, then cupping his face, “for the arrival of those four little angels. We can hardly wait to get to know them!” She wore a wide grin on her face. John noticed now, what it was beneath their scents that he was so familiar with – it was their family-scent, the unique smell of their family-line. It was comforting. So comforting.

 

“It's still seven month to go, Mummy, I'm only eight weeks along.” Sherlock muttered in annoyance.

 

The woman turned to him now, giving her husband the chance to shake John's hand warmly while she patted Sherlock's cheek. “And yet you look like it's been at least 12.” she said proudly, pinching the newly developed fat on his hip.

  
Sherlock took an audible breath at that – you might imagine what he felt. “Good, yes, thank you, Mummy. Now go.” he moved to open the door, a sign for them to leave now, leave fast, thank you very much. It was then, that John really saw where Sherlock got his temper from because mummy clearly wasn't ready to just leave. She insisted on hugs and kisses and for them to visit them soon.

Sherlock did give a half-hearted promise and shut the door on them when his mother reached out to touch his cheek again. “Oh, for God's-...” he began and never finished, the door clicking shut.

 

When he looked down at John with a sigh, he met with an amusement he clearly hadn't expected. “Those were your parents?” he asked, still not quite able to get his head around that fact. “ _Those_ were _your_ parents?”

 

Sherlock merely frowned down at him. “Yes. Problem?”

 

“That.. was not what I... expected..”

 

“What did you expect?”

 

“Oh, I don't know, like... It's just.. They were so... ordinary.”

 

Sherlock clicked his tongue and said “it's a cross I have to bear”in joke-complaint.

 

The doctor felt the corner of his mouth twitch up at that. “Why didn't you tell me they were coming?”

 

The detective waved his hand dismissively, taking a few steps to where there was still tea in the pot. “Oh, I.. probably deleted the information. I don't usually anticipate my parents visiting me – they can be so very dull! Ugh, and Mycroft tries to make me take them to a musical he has promised to take them to.” John huffed a little chuckle at the thought of Mycroft in a musical audience. “A _musical_ , John! Those pretentious stories, loaded with exaggerated emotional responses and over-the-top trivia! It's music-hell!”

 

“I don't know, I quite enjoy one or two of those.”

 

“Case and point.” Sherlock said with a quirked eyebrow, to which John replied with a daring look. “Ugh, you know what I mean!” John only gave an annoyed hum at that turned to pour himself a last cup with the remains as well.

Sherlock frowned in something similar to disgust. “I don't understand why _you_ keep drinking that. If you're doing it out of solidarity – you don't have to. I know it tastes awful.” he almost growled looking at the decaffeinated tea in his cup as if it had offended his mother.

 

John took a sip and shrugged. “I don't know, I quite like it, actually. It's certainly better than the one we tried out in the beginning..” he replied, musing over the memory of that awful taste. “And your parents didn't seem to mind either.”

 

“Oh, they're content as long as there is tea in the first place.” Sherlock waved his hand gracefully again, rolling his eyes. “Just you wait till Mycroft stays long enough to drink a cup – he'll be leaving in an instant.”

 

John laughed. “You're actually planning on enduring him long enough?”

 

“I said 'just _you_ wait', John.”

 

They eyed each other with challenging smiles for a moment, either of them knowing that neither wanted to really _deal_ with Mycroft long enough for him to actually accept a drink.

John's gaze turned into a loving one several moments later, his hand coming to lay against his mate's cheek. Sherlock leaned down, catching his lips in a slow kiss.

 

“You want to go out for dinner today?” John asked, dreamy look on his face. It was ridiculous, really, he knew that, but he couldn't help feeling this levitated, invincible, _loved_.

 

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Sherlock countered, sassy smirk on his face.

 

“Hm, I think I am. You pay, though.” The doctor shrugged, wide grin pulling at his mouth.

 

Sherlock scrutinised him in mock exasperation. “What kind of Alpha are you?!”

 

“The worst.” John replied cheekily, stealing another kiss from his mate.

 

“If we visit one of our usual restaurants, neither of us would have to pay.”

 

“Angelo's?”

 

“Angelo's.”

 

With a soft giggle, John took one more kiss from the Omega before he went to bring the tea dishes back into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Sherlock flopped down onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“Don't you go to you mind palace now!” John called from the kitchen.

  
“Why not?” protested Sherlock.

 

“Because we want to go out for dinner later and if you retreat now, you won't be back in time unless I shake you. If I shake you, you get pissy.”

“Well, what do you expect? If you power off a computer mid-saving, risk is, that the data, or at least parts of it, will be lost. I don't exactly fancy _losing_ data. I'd rather I delete it myself – keeps the important bits safe.”

 

“Yes. So don't go to your mind palace now.”

 

Sherlock sighed exaggeratedly. “What else am I supposed to do?!”

 

“You _could_ always help me wash the dishes, you know.”

 

“As if that's ever going to happen.”  
  
John threw him a glance, a specific one and Sherlock was familiar with its meaning. “At least stay conscious for a couple of minutes. I think we should take a walk.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“In fact, I think we should go for walks on a daily basis.”

 

“Why, John?”

 

“Long walks.”

 

“John.”

 

“You wanted mental occupation. Deduce it.”

 

“Daily walks, long walks. Exhausting, physically demanding at the pace at which you usually take your walks. You suggested it after we agreed on eating out, so clearly it has been at the back of your mind. You want to keep me fit. More precisely, you want my legs to remain strong.”

 

“Mh, yes, very good! And why would I want that?”

 

“To have me capable of walking for as good and long as possible.”

 

“Why should I want that, Sherlock? You're pregnant with four, they've been growing fast until now, I could have you waddling in three months and bound to bed in four, if only I kept you fed and lazy.”

 

Sherlock frowned in thought. He was actually _thinking_ that through, trying to understand it and it was adorable to see Sherlock Holmes at a loss like this. “Yes.. Yes! Why would you want that? You have been anticipating me fat with your children the moment my heat was over.”

 

John put down towel and dish and went over to the couch, pulled Sherlock's upper body up by expecting hands and straddled his lap. Laying his arms around the Omega's neck, he kept him in that upright position. “I want it for you. Because I know you would dread laying around all day, incapable of wearing off the great energy you manage to build up at the oddest times, incapable of avoiding boredom, incapable of doing your job-”

 

“You'll let me work when I'm visibly pregnant?”

 

“There's no stopping you, is there? And the Yard's storage of cold cases is limited after all.” John replied with a grin.

 

Sherlock merely gave a small but honest chuckle. He was coming back to his old self after all. “Thank you, John.” he said after a pause, in which he had probably considered whether or not it was worth to be said.

 

John, too, considered for a second. “You're welcome.” he said arrogantly, but with the warmth he would always turn toward Sherlock.

 

Sherlock leaned forward, closing the small gab between them then, starting with a soft kiss, which then turned into an assault of more passionate kisses. “How about we skip dinner and walk, and I just ride you?” Sherlock's voice vibrated deep in John's chest as he nuzzled against him softly, lips brushing against John's while he spoke.

 

John smirked “Nope.” He drew back a little. “We're having dinner and a walk and you can ride me afterwards, if you like.” Then he leaned in to whisper in his mate's ear. “Or maybe you want me to ride you for once?”

 

Sherlock drew back to throw him a disbelieving look. He searched John's face for lies and false promises. He didn't find them. “You'd do that for me?”  
  
“I thought it was obvious by now: I'd do anything for you.” he let the back of his hand brush down the now slightly plumper cheeks. “Surely you must feel it, too. That what reaches deeper, far beyond the flatness of our bond.”

 

Sherlock grinned at the absurdity. “Like a.. a perfect match? Isn't that a little.. _romantic_?”

 

“I suppose it is, but that doesn't make it any less real.”

 

“That would explain why I constantly seek your sexual attention.” Sherlock mused inching close enough for his breath to caress John's cheek.  
  
John turned to whisper into Sherlock's ear teasingly. “No, I think that's just your tendency towards addiction.”

 

There was a pause. “Do things like that even exist? I mean, how would such a thing be possible? A bond at least is based on hormones, chemical-”

 

“Sherlock, you can't look at this from a rational perspective.”

 

“But that's the only perspective I have.”

 

John smiled. “I love you, did I ever say?”  
  
“You did, you moan it up to eight times a day.”

 

“Get your shoes, you slut!” John smirked as he climbed off his mate to get dressed himself.

 

“I'm not a slut, I'm just addicted to you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, again! So, I, uh, this is kind of betraying my plan, but would you like me to take up on this in the next chapter, read the whole "John's first time" thing after a nice fluffy dinner? I have something in mind, but I wouldn't be able to live up to it at the moment.. Before, I have always made it one chapter per week (of pregnancy) and the chapters were more or less independent (one time the end of a week was between chapter a and chapter b), soo... I don't know, really... Command me! :D  
> Keep cool :)


	9. Reversed roles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of chapter 8 - a walk, dinner and Omega topping Alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is (finally). I don't know why exactly, no, that's a lie, but let's pretend it wasn't, but somehow this took ages to find its way into the story..  
> Well, now, here it is. Hope you enjoy it, since the amazing number of three people requested it.

Once dressed in belstaff coat and leather jacket, John escorted Sherlock, hand on the small of his back as they stepped through their door and the detective started descending the stairs while John locked up before following him. When his feet hit concrete, the doctor lead their walk in the opposite direction of their destination, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and Sherlock followed silently, no trouble keeping up with John's 'walk-pace', which was considerably faster than his usual walking – odd, since a walk like this was supposed to be relaxing, wasn't it? –, with his long, quick strides, coat fanning out behind him and John couldn't help the smirk forming on his lips. At that, Sherlock rolled his eyes, demonstratively buttoning his coat in the approaching winter cold. John turned to look at him properly, face lightened with the suppressed grin. Sherlock, upon seeing that, rolled his eyes again despite the small tug on the corner of his own mouth and, to John's surprise, linked their arms before tugging his hands in his pockets as well.

The grin turned into a loving gaze, followed by a dreaming gaze directed in front of him as he tugged his mate along on their way until their rhythms evened out and they marched in step, taking a moderate length of a detour to Angelo's. The further they went, though, the more Sherlock started to lean into John either unconsciously or in the hope of not being found out.

 

“Something wrong?” the doctor asked eventually when he felt like he was carrying half of Sherlock's weight. Sherlock's reply was a low grumble and a straightening of his back, walking on his own again. “Sherlock.” The shorter man urged nonetheless.

 

There was a rather over-dramatised sigh from the younger. “My feet hurt. Which is ridiculous: we've been walking for not more than 20 minutes; I am used to running around for hours!”

 

“Mhm, you're also used to not sleeping or eating for days and yet you have been tired and hungry for the better part of eight weeks.” John added to make his next point, which came after a small pause, as plausible to Sherlock as humanly possible. “Your body is changing. There's a lot of things that will still go 'wrong' or 'weird' according to you usual habits in the next seven months. Right now ,I would say your feet or at least your ankles are swelling. Possibly water being transferred to places it doesn't belong because your body is trying to figure out how to handle what it has finally acknowledged as your babies, creating room, shifting reservoirs. Just be glad those pills are keeping the nausea off the bill.”

 

“What am I facing?”

 

John let out a breath of laughter. “I don't know, love. Every pregnancy is different. That's your body's issue, really.” Sherlock grunted again, annoyed at not knowing _and_ his feet hurting. “Come on, we'll take a direct cut there now, get something to feed those soon-to-be monsters in there.” John chuckled, his free arm angling around to pat his mate's coat-covered belly.

 

“Stop that.” Sherlock snapped, but as John drew back, he quickly grabbed the hand, placed it back there and turned to face him, which made their entwined arms pull at each other awkwardly, so he freed them and placed John's second hand on his middle, too, as he leant down to kiss him – publicly –, long thin fingers covering short, strong ones.

 

As they broke apart, John reached up to cup one side of Sherlock's face. “You good?”

 

Sherlock leant into the caress on his cheekbone, turning his head so he could kiss the palm. He angled so that he could take a small sniff from John's wrist, were his calm scent was strong. Another peck was planted to the doctor's thumb and he whispered a “let's go” before he opened his eyes again and resumed his position next to his mate. John happily looped his arm around Sherlock's waist, setting their pace back up.

He was half-carrying Sherlock again by the time they arrived at Angelo's, but once there, the detective straightened back up – he had a reputation here, no need for emotional displays. Oddly enough, John was absolutely fine with that. He had expected it and it would have had him worried had it been any other way. He found himself smiling brightly as he held the door open for his pregnant mate.

As soon as Angelo turned around where he was chatting with costumers at another table, he excused himself and hurried toward them. “Sherlock! John! How nice to have you here again! It has been very lo-oh! I see you finally cracked the man, doctor Watson? Congratulations!” He shook both their hands as he, presumably, picked up on the scent of pregnant, bonded Omega, not even mentioning the fact of omega scent on Sherlock at all as he showed them to their usual booth. “Let us celebrate! In honour of the occasion, everything on the menu for free, for both of you! I cook it myself! I will get a candle and a very special bottle of wine. Be right back!” he chirped and John, again, was equal parts fascinated and irritated by the seemingly constant cheeriness, especially about their relationship.

 

The couple just exchanged amused looks. The man in charge returned to them with their wine and the promised candle, not even the usual tea light, but an actual candle in a cherry red, matching the liquor's colour perfectly. In regard of Sherlock's state, though, John ordered just some water for them and Angelo insisted on them taking the bottle of wine home, then.  
They took a quick glance at the menu, just to order the same as always, just with John commenting “an extra portion for him, though” with a small grin and Angelo seemed seriously overjoyed, contrary to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

John took Angelo's absence as an opportunity to look around and study the familiar grounds. The restaurant was busy, but to a more than acceptable level, the conversations around them blurring into an even buzz with the occasional laughter topping it. There were people of all ages, families, friends, lovers and even a group of probably entertainers of some sort, regarding the straight backs and graceful movements. When his eyes fell back on his mate, he was aware he had been looking at him all that time. He cocked his head to one side as in question.

 

“I'm just still fascinated by you.” Sherlock explained. He tilted his head, but kept the straight face nevertheless.

 

“What have I done this time that I don't know about?” he asked. Sometimes Sherlock called him his 'conductor of light' when John said something that, for some reason, helped him understand. John rarely got how that was a thing.

 

“Nothing, it's just... the general 'you'.You never bore me.”

  
“Our wall says something different.”  
  
“That wasn't you who bored me – I was bored because there was no case and you weren't home.”

 

“Sure.” John replied, smiling a little. Sherlock knew John sounded disbelieving on purpose and therefore just stared back at him until John took a sip of his water. Then, he simply mimicked the action, drowning his exhaustion from walking on aching feet with as much water as was possible to drink without John noticing.

John was more than fond to see Sherlock actually eat properly in a restaurant instead of him picking at what little food he used to order. Now, he truly indulged himself with food, throwing John a daring look all the time as if the doctor would jump him any second. “You know I'm not actually into you eating per se, right?”

 

“You're giving me _the look_ , John. You don't even notice it.”

 

“No, I'm not.” John said defensively. “Well, maybe I am... But not because of _that_!”  


“Hmm, oh! You are actually excited about the prospect of me penetrating you tonight.”

 

“You're really not one for sexy-talk..”

 

“Honestly, John. Pregnancy, dominance – how many kinks do you have?”

 

“Hey, I so _not_ have a kink for being dominated! I'm just excited to try out new stuff with you and, regarding these last two months, I think that's to be expected of an Alpha! Even in my teens I never had sex more than four times a day, and that's counting hand jobs and everything...”

 

Sherlock gave one weak chuckle that seemed unfitting for the moment.

 

“What?”

 

“Would you say I'm 'driving you nuts'?” the Omega grinned in half-heartedly suppressed amusement. John raised his eyebrows in something that was disbelief and incredulous question.  
“That was a joke. You are supposed to snicker.” Which he didn't.

“I read it on a couple of forums on the internet. A lot of Alphas said that about their Omegas.” John blinked rapidly.  
“Maybe that wasn't quite your kind of humour.”  
  
“Was it yours?”

 

“God, no!”

 

“See?” John questioned, expression changing into a gentle smile. “Don't try to be funny, Sherlock, I didn't bond with you for your humour. And besides – you're a lot funnier if you're not trying to be.”

 

“Or when I make fun of Mycroft.”

 

“Yeah... Sadly, that's true.”

 

“Seriously, though, you shouldn't be complaining! You're the reason I became this way in the first place!”

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, I've done some research on that 'perfect bond' thing and most studies state that some Omegas only present when their soul mate is ready to bond with them.”  
  
“How would that work?”

 

“That's where opinions differ and two main theories were developed. Some say it's a psychological matter, that, when the Alpha is mentally ready and open to engage in that relationship, meaning that they have acknowledged the deep bond that is already naturally placed between them, they set off a chain of scentless hormones neither can detect. These hormones, however, get into the Omega's body, where they are declared compatible by certain enzymes, which then change their structure to pump them into the blood stream. It then takes a couple of days for the Omega's body to adjust to the new hormones and release its own, starting the reproductive systems and commencing the mating cycles.”

 

“What's the other theory?”

 

“Oh, forget about that one – it's stupid, illogical and wrong. It's just a Christian excuse for bonding, really.”

 

“So... do you believe in the first theory?”

 

“It does seem the most plausible in all possibilities... But there hasn't been an awful lot of research yet, so it's all very questionable still. Maybe I'm just a very late developer and there isn't even such a thing as a perfect bond.”

 

“The mental bond? The conscious manipulation of it? Turning it on and off at our will? Only quite catching when all doubts between us were erased? How would you explain these things if not by a perfect bond? Ordinary bonds don't feature these abilities.”

 

“Well, I am a superior mind anyway and you have a really admirable amount of self-control.”

 

“That's not it, I don't believe.”

 

“Because you're a romantic.”

 

“Yes, I am.” John admitted with a warm smile, which Sherlock, after a few seconds, returned.

It was nice, seeing him like this because while he was back to his usual self a lot more, even those smiles small and hidden, visible only to those who knew him intimately (John and the Holmes family), he was somehow radiating contentment and a sort of inner peace that was beyond uncharacteristic for him and yet didn't collide with his natural reservoir of energy. The doctor wasn't entirely sure whether it was their bond and finally having someone to love him unconditionally after decades of receiving shit from others, or if it was just the pregnancy, the telltale glow of domesticity.

He didn't care much, to be honest. He loved Sherlock and was loved back by him, which was all that counted to him in their relationship. What either of their hormonal changes did to the other was considerably irrelevant, whether they fucked like crazy or threw stuff at each other wouldn't matter to him, really – it was all a display of how much they both cared.

That's also what John found so erotic about Sherlock eating: it wasn't that he wanted to see him soft and fat, not that there was anything wrong with that – everyone has their kinks and who was he to judge, as long as no one was actually _harmed_ – but it was rather that he saw Sherlock cared. Cared for their pups. Cared for what John had given him. Cared for the little lives that were growing inside the Omega. And, yes, maybe he did like the idea and soon-to-be reality of Sherlock massively swollen, tight and monstrously large with their four children, why wouldn't he? Well fed, well off – him as their Alpha taking care and able to provide them, even if Mycroft's financial support was essential, with love and food and care and damn him, he would stay up night after night, go without food for days and pamper Sherlock only for the sake of him and their pups and he was more than thankful to not having to do so. And, yes, he admitted, the mere thought of what would become of Sherlock in the following months, especially with the pups growing as eagerly as they currently did, had him deeply aroused and ready to rut within seconds – just imagining his belly growing, feeling the tiniest changes in his own hands, watching his giant belly swinging as it brushed against their bedsheets ever so slightly while he mentally shagged Sherlock's brilliant brain out and against the headboard in a wild rut-...

Yes, he was kinky about this whole pregnancy deal and yes, he would, should Sherlock let him, enjoy and relish every moment and bit in his Omega's now ever-changing body.  
But never would he ignore the man behind it all; the crush he had long denied and ignored; the love he had declared himself defeated to as soon as he'd acknowledged its existence. To actually think it would ever turn out this way would have left him laughing those two days before Sherlock's heat had surprised them.

It seemed plausible, that one theory, and while John wasn't in any kind an enemy or hater on any religion or church, he wanted brilliant minds like Sherlock to look into it further, determine and declare it the one and only biological explanation, just because it fit their case.

Sherlock didn't know it, and it made John feel a little giddy to watch him obliviously move back to consuming the last crumbs of bread and forkfuls of his meal, but, indeed, John had turned down an invitation to a date three days before this whole madness had started because he'd felt weird about it and thinking about it for the rest of that day and the entirety of that night had let him come to the long-denied conclusion, that he was already in love. Fallen, help- and hopelessly for his flatmate and best friend, who would never have known, had he not gone into heat.

He realised he had been staring at Sherlock for at least a couple of minutes when he saw his deducting eyes jump over his body and his mouth bent in a one-sided, loving smirk.

 

 

After a small dessert they were on their way again, Sherlock insisting they walk home to work off at least some of what he had just poisoned himself with. John was just walking happily beside him, swinging their joined hands between them a little. It was now around 8pm, the sky a dark blue and Sherlock a solid warmth beside him, with his coat framing his child- and food-swollen belly as much as possible with their little volume, even when combined. Back at the flat, they hung up their coats and moved about for a bit, busying themselves with this and that, the mood a warm glow of loving acquaintanceship between them.

After ten minutes, they ended up on the sofa, Sherlock spread over the length of John's body as they lay on the cushions horizontally, eyes trained to watch the telly and its pointless shows lazily.

At some point, Sherlock tilted his head upwards, pulling John's head down with one hand as he cuddled into the smaller body and pressed soft kisses to his mate. John returned them happily. He'd always been very fond of kissing his partners and Sherlock was no exception.

With a grip on both the Omega's shoulders, John asked Sherlock to turn around and come chest to chest with him to not strain his neck.

Sherlock did. He turned around, the motions pressing their mouths together momentarily, making them intensify their efforts noticeably.

As Sherlock licked his way into John's mouth, the Alpha pulled him close, cock stirring already at the anticipation of what was to come. Instead of an expected chuckle or grin, Sherlock moaned at the contact, eagerly pushing back against him, starting to set a rhythm with his hips rolling down against his. John could feel him stiffening, too, now, so he broke away. “Bed?” he gasped with a shaky voice.

Sherlock nodded and pulled John up with him. In their bedroom, John sat up against the headboard of their bed, Sherlock knelt in front of him. They locked eyes with each other and John felt his body starting to shake slightly. Fortunately, Sherlock didn't so much as mention it, even though he had to see it – _he_ , of all people, would.

But Sherlock just crawled over him and kissed him like he had done so many times before, when they'd had 'conventional' sex, and it eased John's mind a little.

There was some time spent with sensual snogging and careful undressing and John ended up in Sherlock's lap, pricks brushing against one another as they kissed and touched and slowly, very cautiously, the detective let his hands drift down John's back to cup his rear, waiting for the doctor to draw back or flinch or do anything to signalise that he didn't want this after all.

When there was no protest, however, one slender digit sank in between his cheeks, down until it brushed over John's whole, caressing it while he gasped at the alien touch.

Sherlock took his sweet time, ignoring both their erections and arousal, both of them going almost flaccid while he moved his index finger vertically and then in circles around the ring of muscle, just so John would get used to his touch and open up just enough so that he could trace the ring itself. He never once complained stretching his arm all the way around John and meanwhile kissing him, although it must surely have been uncomfortable after some time. Still, he made no noise.

Eventually, the time came, when Sherlock finally dipped his finger _inside_ John, stroking his perineum to keep him relaxed whilst doing what no Alpha was built to receive.

It felt weird, intrusive, but also exciting and promising and as confusing as that was, he enjoyed it just the tiniest bit. He moved up the lanky body a bit so that Sherlock could reach more easily, but they could keep kissing.

It seemed to take the Omega ages to prepare him – seating just one finger completely inside was apparently problematic because John clenched on the inside, pushing the digit back out, but Sherlock was gentle and insistent. It started getting better, though, when the younger one poked the tip of a second finger inside, stretching the tight muscles in a way that wasn't painful, but rather deliciously. It was then that John broke away from Sherlock's swollen lips to kiss along the line of his throat, finding the one spot that made the man moan regardless of where and in what situation they were. And he bathed in the beautiful sound, the thick rumble that was Sherlock's voice. He could feel his Omega's cock stiffening against him once more and that, along with those unholy noises, had his own member come back to life as well.

Sherlock got, probably unconsciously more eager with that, his fingers moving in a more demanding fashion.

Pain set in as his partner inserted a third finger, pushing it, not as gently inside, and realising only when John's whole body tensed in reflex. The response was Sherlock crooking one finger to brush it, expertly so, over his prostate, having him inhale sharply as his hips snapped forward instinctively.

They fell into panting breaths shortly after as John licked and nipped at Sherlock's erogenous spot and the latter opened him with his fingers, brushing over his prostate every so often.

 

“I'm ready!” John breathed, giving Sherlock one sloppy kiss.

 

“Are you sure?” the Omega asked, receiving a confirming nod as an answer.

 

At that, the doctor moved back down on his partner's body, rubbing their pricks together before sitting upright and grabbing the brunets cock to line it up with his hole.

Looking into icy blue eyes, he lowered himself, the head of the other's prick breaching his hole, followed by the harder shaft, which stretched him further and he had to pause once he was sitting in his lovers lap fully, breath shaking.

 

“Alright?” Sherlock asked and although John could see a light tremble in his body, too, his voice was steady.  
  
Promptly, the Alpha felt stupid for how nervous he was _and_ sounded. “Yeah, just.. give me a minute. Need to adjust.”

 

“Hah, sissy.”

 

“I'm not naturally built for this!”  
  
“Neither am I.”  
  
“Yeah, but it's still not the same position you're in, opposed to me. I mean, an omega prick would be no big deal, but yours is about beta size, which, in comparison, is a bloody big deal!.... Christ, you're just so big!”

 

There was a pause.  
“Say that again.”

 

“Christ, you're just so big?”

 

“Hmm,” Sherlock frowned, “interesting.”

 

John cocked his head in question, but then it hit him. “Oh, someone have a kink there, Mr. Bigtalk?”

 

“It would seem so, yes.”  
They locked eyes and broke into chuckles after a second.

  
John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock softly. “Well, then. How about you make me yours? _Entirely_.” he whispered, causing the Omega's body to shiver in arousal as he started to roll his hips and push up and down on Sherlock's beta cock.

The Omega lay his hands on John's knees, however couldn't keep them still, so he ran them up his thighs, pausing to push his thumbs lightly next to his hipbones and proceeded to let them roam over his Alpha's chest for a while, dragging them back down to assist John's movements as he began to move his own pelvis in time.

John felt the stretching of his hole and willed himself to focus on the pleasure instead of the pain, which made the latter only more obvious to him. Additionally, his thighs were shaking with the effort and nervousness, which, of course, didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock.

Slowly, the Omega sat up, kissed John while he rotated them upon his own axis and gently laid him down on the mattress, stretching out above him. He curled up a little to wrap John's legs around his waist and then crawled back up to kiss John again, ending on a thrust with his hips as he caged the Alpha's head with his forearms.

After a few seconds of adjusting to the new position, the whole process became easier, Sherlock being able to push in deeper, resulting in him grunting and moaning occasionally against John's mouth, and he also hit the Alpha's prostate every umpteenth thrust, having John gasping and moaning back at him, hands clawing at his back.

Sherlock's kisses became more passionate and demanding, but no less loving the further they went and they were soon a mess of panting and moaning and grunting and huffing and gasping each other's name.

Lost in a tangle of legs, hands grasping at hair and lips trying desperately to breath through each other, climax was approaching quickly and an impact inevitable.

“Ah, haah, Sherlock- Sherlock, I-” John tried to warn, but couldn't quite speak around his breathlessness.

 

“Yes. I know. Come. For me. Please.” Sherlock replied in equal manner.

 

And so John let go, arching against Sherlock's body as it was already pressed against his own, choked noise dying in his throat as his cum hit their bellies where they were flush against each other.

Sherlock practically roared as John's body clenched around him and he spilled deep inside his mate, thrusts stopping immediately when he was buried inside John all the way.

The Omega collapsed on top and, reluctantly, John rolled both their shaking, panting bodies to the side so they had a little more room to catch their breath.

For some minutes, their calming breaths were all that was to be heard in the room.

John eventually broke their silence by kissing Sherlock and then speaking. “Had I ever known what prostate stimulation really feels like, I would have done this ages ago.” he chuckled.

 

“Well, I'm glad you didn't. It's a rather satisfying feeling to know I'm your first.” Sherlock said, a blissful grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Hm, you certainly seem satisfied, yes.” the Alpha mumbled, clumsily caressing his Omega's face and cuddling up against him, mindful of the pups growing in the small space between their bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: Mistakes are mine and there ought to be lots of them this time, so if you find any, please return them! Contact me in the comments!


	10. A reminder of who you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade consults with Sherlock and John about a case that reminds them of what lives they are actually living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.   
> Sorry for the long wait. This chapter is absolute bollucks crap. It could have been something, but I feel... unattached at the moment, can't really get into any sort of emotion due to stress and so on, but I need to write to keep the stress level under control and so you get a shitty chapter. Sorry.  
> Ugh, it feels wrong to post this, but then again: I don't really care all that much, which is awful. Somehow.   
> Remember to call out my cute little babies' names so I can make everything right!  
> Just go on now. Read it and destroy me in the comments, I deserve it. 
> 
> Love,   
> Me aka Most-awful-writer-in-the-history-of-fanfiction Yes-I-deserve-that-name

“Seventeen year old omega boy, went missing two days ago. At first the parents thought it was just another one of his pranks, apparently he does that from time to time, but he didn't come back that night. They're worried as hell - mind you, I'd be, who can blame them.” Lestrade told them, scratching the back of his head nervously at the thought of being in the parents' situation. He may be an incompetent detective, but quite the caring father himself.  
  


“Then why don't they stop him leaving?” No. No, that wasn't meant to come out as an accusation. And his hand wasn't meant to touch his belly. That wasn't right! Why was this happening?  
  
“Well, sometimes there's nothing you can really do about it.. Teenagers are difficult-”  
  
“He's an Omega, for God's sake! Wandering around outside at night, anything could happen to him – being murdered is just the lucky option!” Really, how stupid must a pair of _parents_ be to allow their pup to go out for such risks.  
  
“Sherlock.” John interrupted him calmly. How on earth could he stay calm, he was an expectant father, how did he not feel this... this... protectiveness?!

 

“What?! That is absolutely careless and irresponsible! And people call _me_ a freak!” he spat, stopping only when he felt John's hand on his lower back, the warmth it was radiating gradually pulling him out of his anger. He regarded his shorter mate in confusion at first before realising. “I'm good. I'm.. fine.” Sherlock fended off, straightening himself. “Laptop, Smartphone, Tablet?”  
  
“What?”  
  
How did this man ever join the police. “Did he leave behind anything with access to the internet?”

 

“Yeah, a laptop, why?”

 

“Bring it here.”  
  
“Sherlock, why?”

 

Ugh. “A teenager goes missing, having a habit of going out alone at night, especially an Omega. There's a clear pattern, don't tell me you don't see it.”

 

“Sherlock. Showing off.”

 

Again, Sherlock's eyes fixed on his partner, but in a more annoyed manner and only for a short time. “Just bring it here!” he ordered Lestrade and went to sit in his chair, taking his thinking pose. He needed to figure out this hormone induced emotional issue first. John just rolled his eyes as he nodded at the DI.   
  
“So, you planning to, what, search emails, social networks?”  
  
At the sound of John's voice, Sherlock looked up, noting Lestrade's absence and that John had sat down in front of him. When had that happened? “Obviously.”  
  
“What do you suspect then? Kidnapping?... Rape?”  
  
“John, are you deliberately trying to set me off?!”

 

“No, no, sorry. Of course not... You do seem a little... sensitive, though. You ok?”

 

Sherlock gave a long, suffering sigh at that. “Hormones, I should think. Absolutely irrational, again, but there you go.” Again, he caught his hand hovering over his slightly bulging middle, shielding it protectively. When he saw John's sympathetic look, he rolled his eyes and placed his hand on the armrest in a slightly exaggerated movement. “There is nothing wrong, John. Neither the babies nor I are in any way dissatisfied.”  
  
“Maybe you shouldn't work the case.”  
  
“No, that's not it! It's just.. what if one of our pups turns out the same way? I did it a lot at that age. I never thought about how my mother must have felt.. If they turn out, you know.. like me...”

 

John moved then, stretching his arm out to take Sherlock's hand. “It's all right, love. We will do the best we can, hm? And if anything like this ever happens to us, well, we still got you. You'll figure it out and find them. Teenagers are rebellious, that's normal. The key is to not suppress them, just limit them in dimensions they deem reasonable-”

 

“So, if any of them do take after me, there will be no limits.” Oh, snappy sarcasm.

 

“Sherlock. It'll be fine.”

 

“Yes, because I am such a perfect choice to being a parent.” Self-pitying, brilliant!  
  
“You did want this, didn't you?” Stupid question.

  
“Yes.”   
  
“And you still want it, don't you?” Seriously.

 

“Yes. I have always wanted this.” Although Sherlock could see the mild surprise over that fact on John's face, the Alpha didn't say anything. “Are you manipulating me?!”

 

“All I'm saying, Sherlock, is that you have made a decision and even if you wanted, the complicated law-system would prevent you from deciding against it now and since I wouldn't be able to just pass my own children on to someone else-”  
  
“I'm not giving them away!”  
  
“I'm not saying you would. Point I'm trying to make: You don't make decisions without thinking them through. You have thought about this long and hard. I have your back.”   
  
There was staring. Sherlock saw that John was honestly calm and serious, god, he _knew_ that. “How can you still trust me? After all the things you know about me, experienced yourself and haven't yet heard, how can still believe I am actually suited to bring up your children?“

 

“That's exactly it. You don't try to make me see how perfect and incredible you are. You don't even try to make me love you, no, you just manipulate me, then tell me off, expecting me to wander off, leave you on your own, make a run for it.” he shrugged with an amused smile on his face. “I could go out there, find myself a nice and socially adequate female Omega, who promises to always take my wish as command, be the good houseomega and beg me to spend the rest of my life with her. When have I ever chosen the boring way?” As ridiculous as that little speech had sounded, John had a point and it made Sherlock grin a tad. “I don't make decisions easily either. Sure, I've played around in the past, but because I chose to. I was never looking for something really fixed or I'd have bonded ages ago. I'd not have bonded with you had I not been ready and I wouldn't have been ready had it not been you.”

 

“You sound absolutely ridiculous.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

Smirking. Then the return of Lestrade, the laptop clutched under one arm. “Here's the thing, then. But we had a quick look, it's password protected.”

 

“Don't doubt it.” Sherlock stood, retrieving the object in question from the DI and placing it on the small table in front of the couch, on which he sat more or less gracefully.

 

“Good to see you all cheered up.” Greg commented with a grin directed at John, who gave him a small smile, focusing on Sherlock again.  
  
“Teenage omega boy, running of at night – clearly a romantic, but the desperate kind, imagining and wanting their life to be like in one of those films. John, that.. crappy... about the vampires and werewolves and that stupid omega teenage girl...”

 

“... Twilight?”

 

“Yes, that. Which one won the girl in the end?”

 

“Oh, I don't know, I don't watch that stuff! The vampire? Girls love vampires for some reason.”

 

“The werewolf then. What was it.. James? Jim? Julian? Jack?”

 

“Jacob.” Lestrade interrupted, having two pairs of eyes focusing on him. He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “The wife. Watched it with the girls...”

 

With a raised eyebrow, Sherlock put his attention back to the laptop in front of him and typed. “Thorough look you've had at it, was it?” he said, rolling his eyes as he proceeded to work through any hints he could get. His log in details were saved on Facebook and an Omega flirting site he found in the boy's browser history. “Teenagers are so easy to crack these days. They're hardly even trying to keep anything secret. Here, he has been chatting with someone who calls himself 'DollarDan' on this website and the name reappears in the list of his friends on Facebook – the profile pictures are identical. That pervert promised him the moon and he fell for it. They are both stupid, we don't have to worry about our pups, John. Now, from the email address he's registered with, we can work our way through to his emails and here we have.. that! is exactly what I expected. Isn't that cute, they thought their data would be safer this way – isn't that just adorable, someone should teach them important things at school.” There was a pause in which Sherlock read through the exchanged messages. “They met every so often at a bar in central London, we should go there straight away.” he said and with it, stood quickly, getting dressed.

 

John and Greg exchanged looks and the doctor went to get dressed himself quickly.

The bar was.. interesting. It was in a side street and based on goth themes like vampires, elves and the likes. Sherlock headed straight for the bartender who looked him up and down with both scrutiny and something akin to flirting. As soon as he noticed, John moved up to stand beside his mate, back straightened, jawline tensed in a challenging gesture. The bartender averted his eyes immediately and Sherlock smirked. There would be some marvellous sex tonight.

 

“Can I help ya?” the woman with too much make-up and far too much cleavage in that cheap corset asked.

 

“Yes, there was a boy here, an Omega, he came rather frequently to meet an Alpha.” Sherlock began to explain.

  
“Look 'round ya, sweetheart, we've got a lot o' those here. Though usually not your age..” she murmured when John let his eyes wander to check their surroundings shortly. The flirt was back, great. Some Alphas just can't take the hint that 'mated' means 'bloody mated', no, instead she's leaning forward, trying to make him look at her large breasts, not seeming to understand that he had taken a quick look upon entering the bar and was anything but interested and especially MATED.

 

“I'm sorry, could you take your breasts out of my mate's face?”

 

“John.” This was not the time and place to start a fight, as daft as that woman might be. “The boy went missing two days ago, he was meeting his date here. They both have short, brown hair, hold on, here are pictures of both of them. Recognise either?”

 

“Not that I could say, nah. Never seen 'em here.” a quick look at John didn't seem to stop her now. “But then, I don't work Mondays 'n' Fridays.”

 

“Seriously I wouldn't challenge him, he's been in the army.”

 

“And has killed men twice your stature for less.”   
  
“Keep it cool, mate.” Lestrade piped in, grabbing John's shoulder. “Who does work these days? Are they here today?”

 

“I can call Kate up to the front, she works the Friday shift, but Ross isn't in.” she said arrogantly, trying to act away the fact that John's background scared her away just the tiniest bit – she was a cool and strong Alpha after all.

 

“If you would.” Sherlock asked rolling his eyes as soon as she turned her back, releasing a deep breath as he looked at John, who looked around checking for anyone else who might have their eyes on Sherlock.

  
The returning bartender was a young omega with a kind and open expression. “Hi, how can I help you?”  
  
“Kate, right? We're searching for a young Omega. A boy. He came here frequently with an Alpha. These are their pictures. Do you recognise either of them?”  
  
“Yeah.. Yeah, sure, Mitchell and Dan! They're sweet, really, always so clandestine about their love. Bit like in one of those movies.. Mitchell's really the stereotypical Omega and believe me he and Dan found each other. Gosh.. and now he's missing?”  
  
“Yes, he was to meet Dan here two days ago and never came back home.”  
  
“No.. No, I would have remembered, they weren't here on Monday. Neither of them.”  
  
  


Expectant eyes focused on Sherlock. “Something must have happened on the way here.”

 

“Do you think he's... been attacked?” the girl asked with worry on her face.

 

“At the moment, it's looking that way.” the detective declared and dashed for the door, John right on his heels with a thankful hand gesture and Greg behind them after thanking her properly.

 

“So, what now?” John asked.

 

“We have to check every side street on the boy's way. See if we can find any clues.” Sherlock replied, pulling his phone out to text the members of his homeless network. He had a couple of them in this area, they might have seen something.

 

“Clues? Like what?”

 

“Blood, cloth, anything that could indicate a crime has taken place.” he said, turning towards them. “We should part ways for that, I suppose, might be faster. I have got some of my network on the case as well though, so we will likely have some information in no time.”  
  


And indeed, Sherlock received a text message only half an hour later, containing an address and a picture of what she had found there that could be related.

After a brief inspection, Sherlock could tell that the boy had indeed been surprised and dragged into the alley where, apparently, the omega boy had not only been raped but also killed afterwards. A piece of torn off cloth held the fingerprints that lead Lestrade to the responsible Beta in the end. Sherlock got the satisfaction of doing some of the interrogation himself, taking the man apart piece by piece – he wouldn't soon forget or forgive himself.

John walked the way to the taxi by his side, not speaking, just bathing in the warm feeling of Sherlock's mind at ease, feeling him strongly through their bond and suppressing any worries either of them had bubbling up inside them.

At home, John took off Sherlock's coat to hang it up with his own. The detective went straight ahead to make some tea for them both. In the meantime, John sat himself down in his chair, waiting for his mate to return with the tea. When he did, they sat in silence for some time.

 

“I never thought of these crimes as something that could happen in my own life. Then again, I never thought I'd make friends with somebody, let alone find a mate or have children.” Sherlock admitted after a while. “Do you really think we will be able to keep them safe from these things?” he asked honestly, looking down at where his hands roamed his shirt-clad belly.

 

John considered this for a moment. “It's cruel, isn't it. He was just a child – young, innocent, naïve. I think as long as we make sure to educate them about these things, they'll do just fine.” It seemed like something John would say to make him feel better, only it had something bitter about it.

 

“You're still mad at that bartender? That was more than 5 hours ago, John.”

 

“Yeah, you still have that bloody smell on you, though!”

 

“It seems I am not the only one to be a little sensitive today.” Sherlock teased, a smug grin on his face.

 

“You've been distressing me all day!” John said defensively, referring to the waves of hormones that have been wafting off Sherlock momentarily. It seemed the pregnancy did still have influences beyond Sherlock's control now and then.

 

“Well, then... you can always.. overwrite the scent.”  
  
“You'd let me?” John asked incredulously. While they were still very active in their physical interaction, but scenting was still a rare process, mostly because Sherlock thought it stupid and a waste of time and John didn't really argue about that. He didn't particularly like it himself, but at times like this, when someone tried to seduce his mate or left challenging hormones on him, he just felt it was necessary, like a nervous draw to it. It had even happened, shortly after their first encounter of reversed roles, that Sherlock had scented John after he'd been crowded by an especially interested omega patient. He wouldn't deny he liked it for one second.

“Maybe I should.. and maybe we could have a repeat of last week afterwards...” he sang suggestively.

 

Sherlock's eyes widened immediately. “You.. you'd let me take you again?”

 

“Well, I think we already covered the fact that I did enjoy it largely. If you wanted, I'd let you have me anytime.”  
  
“You don't think it weird or humiliating to let your Omega take over control, have your body?”

 

“Let's face it: I loved it. I loved how much you loved it. Certainly, I can't always let you do that, I have.. urges. And when it becomes too much, I trust you would let me have what my nature demands, but otherwise, I am all open for some non-conventional sex.”

  
It was the smirk. John's bloody way of smirking at him, that made Sherlock actually blush the most translucent shade of red. And before Sherlock could reply anything, John sat down his mug and took Sherlock's out of his hand as well just while straddling his lap. The seat of the chair was a bit cramped what with John's legs next to Sherlock's widening hips and plumper thighs, but why bother about something so irrelevant, when all Sherlock needed was right in front of him, forehead touching forehead, noses brushing against each other, lips longing to feel the company of the pair belonging to the one person, that made his insides turn in a rather nice way and his heart ache the closer they got because it just never was close enough.

 

“We're going to be fine.” his Alpha whispered with more breath than words, diving in for that long wanted kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. Told you!   
> If you have, aside the destruction and pure fire, any kind words like prompts for topics of future chapters, let me know! I've got a lot of chapters to write and will no doubt run out of plot eventually ^^'   
> No worries, I have not forgotten what I was already asked to do - but everything in its right time ;*


	11. Fighting Hormones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogues and Monologues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's an apology for last chapter's embarrassing outcome. I on't pretend any of what I do is 'good', but most is definitely better than the crap I produced last time - I had an emotional period. I can't write when I'm emotional.  
> So, here ya go! Title and Summary as uncreative as ever, but who cares!^^   
> Enjoy!

“God- GOD! Sher-haaah....”

 

“Come on, John! Don't flake out on me now! We've hardly even begun!”

 

“Could you just, _maybe_ , take it a bit.. easier?”

 

“Ugh, what kind of alpha soldier are you?!”

 

“And old one...”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and removed his arm from where it pinned John's throat to the wall. Immediately John's hand reached up to examine his temple which had just taken a serious punch from his mate. “You really need to get your skates on.”

 

“Yeah... Why are we doing this again?!”  
  
“Because, John, I'm not in the position to fight anymore and so you will have to take my place!” the detective said in an annoyed manner.

 

“Mh, because never before have I fought a criminal.”  
  
“Last time I checked you were busy taking their pulse after shooting them.”  
  
“What, am I supposed to just let them bleed to death?!”

 

“You're supposed to catch them and keep me safe simultaneously.”

 

“Sherlock, I think I'm fine. I've had enough experience with you and _in the bloody army_! And anyway, you know I won't fight back against you.”

 

“Then do!”  
  
“You're pregnant! I won't fight you for the same reason you won't fight criminals over the remaining 6 months!”

 

“We'll have to ask Gunther then.”

 

John took a breath then, emphasising his disbelief and impatience with his mate. “His name's Greg.”

 

“Yes. He's on the force. Sure, he's not very fit and has neither technique nor outstanding skills... Maybe not Gilbert.”

 

“Greg.”  
  


“Exactly. Then who..”

 

“Sherlock, how about no one?” the look Sherlock threw him at that said all there was to be said. “It'll be fine, really, I'm very capable in that field.”

 

To test that, the Omega threw a fast and unexpected punch at John, which was blocked quite skilfully. “Well.. m-maybe..” Sherlock admitted, a bit stunned at John's sudden reaction when he had remained so passive before, taking hits and blows just to not hurt his mate. “Why-?”

 

“Because before you would have just continued attacking me randomly and one wrong move from you while I blocked you, could have ended in you hurting yourself some way. Now I knew this was a single punch, meaning no offensive movements afterwards, meaning you're safe.” John explained and Sherlock could only stare. Any time he thought he'd figured John out, the man presented him with something new and unexpected, something he'd learned in the army and hadn't forgotten in the least, something his years of experience with other human beings had taught him or anything at all, really. He hadn't thought John would take on fist-fights strategically like he did himself. Much less had he known John read the body language of his opponent like that. He stared.  
John lowered their fists. “I'll manage.” John promised with a smile dancing between gentleness and satisfaction. The Alpha loosened the fist he was holding to entwine their fingers, stepping up closer and stretching up to kiss his mate, who leaned into the touch immediately.

 

“Maybe you should take a look at that temple.. It's bleeding a little.” Sherlock mumbled in concern, a shimmer of red on his pale cheeks.

 

John chuckled and drew away, confirming with an amused “maybe I should,” as he walked into the bathroom, not entirely unaware of the pair of eyes following his arse. And what a nice arse it was. If Sherlock didn't know better, he'd say a smart arse, but then again, it could be taken this way or that (possibly literally) and, after all, John was far more resourceful than most people. And most importantly: he was his. His little bundle of strength and passive aggression. How that could hide so perfectly underneath his softness, kindness and good spirit, Sherlock could only wonder. It surprised him every time – one minute he was John Hamish Watson, the man with the adorably funny middle name you want to cuddle up against, bury your nose in his ridiculous jumpers and just listen to laughing for hours, and the next he was Captain John Watson, ex-army-soldier, army doctor, shot and still fighting strongly. He was brilliant. He was everything Sherlock admired and never wanted to be himself. He was his counterpart and they both knew it, loved it, bathed in it.

 

  
Sherlock turned in front of the mirror the next morning, eyeing his reflection with excitement. Oh, John would love this. They had been tight three days ago, hard to do up yesterday, but today was the day he didn't fit in his trousers any more. “John!” he called. He wasn't yet quite used to seeing himself larger than rips just barely not showing, but seeing his belly finally curve outwards instead of inwards had something.. fascinating about it – at least keeping in mind it was because of John's pups.

 

“What is it, love-” the doctor began to ask innocently, then stopping when he saw Sherlock standing in front of the mirror, trousers still undone. “No!” he grinned, his eyes practically sparkling as he stepped up behind his Omega.

 

“It's finally time.” Sherlock purred in a low voice as John reached around him to see for himself.

 

“And these are-”

 

“The most elastic pair I own.” the younger man confirmed as John kept pulling at them to try and do them up.

 

“You've really- mmmhh.” he lost his sentence in a hearty growl as one end slipped out of his hand and he had the final proof that there was no way even these pair could be worn any more. “Ten weeks and you've finally done it.” John praised, massaging the small bump as Sherlock grinned at him proudly. “Well, at the rate you've been growing recently, it's hardly a surprise.. And you'll keep growing at a faster rate for the next six months, ohh, I can't wait!” The admiring tone had given way to a very aroused, very predatory one. Sherlock found he didn't mind it in the least. “Maybe I should go on holiday for a couple of months, so the surprise is bigger when I come home to you all big and immobile, my pups keeping you pinned to the last cushion you managed to lower yourself onto before you grew simply too heavy to get up again.”

 

“You wouldn't dare, you couldn't go even a day without me, without touching me, without the reassurance that I'm still growing four of your – _bloody –_ pups!” Sherlock answered, dark rumble breathless, gasping whenJohn kissed his way over the back of his neck and finding a particularly sensitive spot. The Omega's hands joined John's on his proud little belly, his head falling to the side to give John access to nibble and lick at the scarring bond bite, as he lead the other's pair of hands down into his pants, making his intentions clear.

 

John seemed happy to oblige, taking another small step forward to press up against his mate so that Sherlock felt his erection against his arse, his head lulling back to rest on the Alpha's shoulder in response. When John wrapped a hand around Sherlock's cock and began caressing it in various ways before settling for the common pumping and his other hand cupped the underside of Sherlock's growing belly, the Omega began rubbing his rear at his mate's crotch, who started rutting against him lightly, softly murmuring pleas to stop.

 

“No. No, Sherlock, stop! Please! Plea-” a pause, then a shaky exhale.

 

Sherlock lifted his head to look at John's reflection in the mirror: eyes closed, eyebrows curled up. “Did you just-?”

 

“Yes.” the doctor confessed, shading in a modest red.

 

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and a smirk. “We really need to do something about that kink of yours.”

 

John huffed an embarrassed laugh. “There's no saving me.” He opened his eyes and his gaze instantly fell down Sherlock's front, taking in the bump and, beyond, where he was still holding his cock. “Sorry.” he mumbled, resuming his actions, kissing that sweet spot on Sherlock's neck, right next to the bite, to build up the mood again, which wasn't too necessary yet. The Omega appreciated it largely nonetheless. Two minutes later John had his mate slumping back into him a little, coming with a soft moan.

 

Looking down, Sherlock frowned. “Now I'll have to get rid of these trousers.”

 

“You could just wash them.”

 

“Don't be simple, John.” he accused, turning around with a smile though, leaning down to kiss the Alpha. “Now, how about breakfast? I'm starving.” he complained, earning a soft chuckle from his mate.

 

 

“Any cases brought to you that you're interested in?” John asked, biting a large bit of his toast.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Before last week you seemed quite anti the idea. What's that change of heart all about?”

 

“I've had a little bit of time to think and I made use of it. As long as you can, I am fine with cases, as long as there is not too much running, definitely no fighting and no dangerous confrontations for you. As you said yesterday: I'm going to have to act for two now. And... and I think we should have a talk with your brother.”   
  
Sherlock regarded him in mild surprise. “You are going to accept an _adequate_ sum of money to finance us?”

 

John licked his lips. “Yes.”

 

To John's apparent surprise, Sherlock didn't laugh or gave any sarcastic answer, just smiled lightly and whispered a soft “thank you.” He then went back to eating, ignoring the half-confused, half-adoring look John threw him – this was quite enough fluff for the day, screw the hormones. “When is our next appointment at Dr. Field's?”

 

“In two weeks. Regular check-up is all. Maybe some advise on this and that.” mumbled John around his jam, happy to leave the kitsch aside, too.

 

“Hm.” hummed Sherlock, confirming the information had been taken in – likely would be deleted by midday again, though. “John, you're not a specialist on any genders, obviously, but in your basic knowledge of everything, what can you tell me about this pregnancy. So far it hasn't quite been a straight line, rather a list of extremes patched up to form one ridiculous circumstance of showing off.”

 

For a moment, John stared, clearly processing what Sherlock had just said, trying to filter the sense in it. “The Omega body has a law of its own. Sure, you can do studies, collect examples and find an average to settle on, but in fact, it's still all individuals, variables. Now, as Dr. Field said, multiples aren't uncommon among first pregnancies, as is the release of an additional ovum during the early weeks of pregnancy. The latter one depends mostly on both quantity and quality of hormones released by the mated Alpha – a mixture of hormones released only during sex. The amount of intercourse we've been having these past ten weeks at a constant rate and the fact that we connect on an above scientific level, seems to have been the correct dosage, if not an overdose. Your pregnancy was either still young enough to not be entirely registered or it was really an overdose of hormones for you to release an ovum whilst already pregnant. Anyway, we really _are_ lucky it didn't catch because with four already feeding, that one would probably not have survived or, if it had, you'd be walking bones by now – yes, you would have had to eat even more, love, I know: horrible.” Sherlock answered his sarcastic look with an annoyed one. “Anyway. The amount of hormones, attention and nurturing an Omega receives from their Alpha can also have an influence on the development of the pups. I think you can make the following connection yourself.”  
  
“So, I have practically been bagging you to enlarge our pups, possibly even put an additional one in me?”

 

“Out of instinct.. maybe.”

 

“But none of this showed up in any of the material I've read.”  
  
“Well, considering who you are and what sources you'd be consulting, we can come back on what I said earlier: Most studies are only giving an average result. Either that, or even only Beta standards, ironically. Many scientist just assume that Alpha and Omega instincts are so strong, there would be no studies needed in the first place because they'd just figure it out themselves or else get educated by society. Not so Betas – they are almost completely without such instinctual knowledge so they need to be educated, and since Betas were rare throughout most of human history, they are still attractive test subjects to scientists.”

 

“That's stupid!” Sherlock frowned, wrinkling his nose. John shrugged in agreement.

 

“Our current society is no less intelligent than hundreds of years ago.”

 

“Humans are idiots.”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

Smirks pulled at their lips.

Another thing that amazed Sherlock: John was everyone's idea of an ordinary guy with normal views and opinions. Everyone, including himself, underestimated John. John didn't, of course, the man was very well aware of his strengths and weaknesses. And, actually, John was rather unsocial. He disliked most people for their obviousness and simplicity. Most people on the police force, for example, fit that pattern. He didn't want to chat about sports and sex all the time because that was all he knew. Mostly, John liked to not talk at all. He liked to listen to whatever people wanted to tell him, but preferably deep topics, preferably Sherlock showing off – as much as he liked to deny it.

 

“So, going for a walk with me tonight?”

 

“Mmh, why not. Could do with the exercise. My legs have been killing me recently.” the Omega complained.

 

 

John re-entered the flat after work to find Sherlock in front of his laptop in his chair. “Hey. What are you doing?” he asked, moving up behind him, leaning over the back of it.  
  
“Since they don't bother with rational studies on Omegas, I am just going to do that myself.”

 

“Of course you are.” John's voice sounded lovingly delighted and a small kiss was pressed to the top of his head in greeting and he threw his head back to request more of the affection, but on his lips. It was granted. “You're still in you pyjamas! We wanted to go for a walk, Sherlock!”

 

“Well, I can hardly put on any of my clothes now they don't fit me any longer.”

 

“Oh. Right. I had forgotten.” John admitted, turning red. “Christ, I remember..”

 

It was fun, really, watching determined and confident John Watson come apart more and more as his pregnancy progressed.

 

“Well then,” the doctor began when he had recovered from the sudden burst of arousal, “you could borrow some of my clothes. They should be fine... for a bit.” And back was the witty Alpha he loved.

 

Sherlock merely cocked an eyebrow and muttered a “thank you” before returning to his notes, filling in stats. As expected, John understood he was supposed to pick the clothes himself and Sherlock was glad when he returned with a smart pair of black jeans and a shirt instead of a jumper. He'd just.. have short trousers and roll the shirt's sleeves up. Had to suffice for tonight.

Surprisingly, the jeans weren't as short as he'd thought, but embarrassingly enough, almost as tight as his own had been last week. John wasn't a heavy man in the least, but compared to Sherlock's habitual skeletal shape, he usually looked a bit plump. He really wasn't though. Sherlock was glad to be able to hide behind his big coat.

 

“New clothes tomorrow, then?” John asked eventually when they were walking past a line of shops.

 

“It would seem so. Although my tailor probably wouldn't make a lot of sense. Give me three weeks and I've outgrown the next lot.”

 

“Hmm, that's a nice fucking mental picture, love. Can you make that a promise?”

 

Sherlock looked down in irritation. “What is happening to you?!” he asked in disbelief.

 

“I'm horny. I am horny way too often these days, I'm getting a bit... alpha..” John realised in mild shock, looking up at Sherlock with wide, innocent eyes.

 

“Don't you dare! I'm already fighting enough with this whole omega and hormones business, I don't need you to become another hard-to-handle thing!” the younger man replied in a strict, even accusing tone.

 

The Alpha looked down the street ahead of them. “Yeah, I know.” he mused, pushing everything irrational as far back as possible to concentrate properly. “It's not like I want this or do it on purpose.” he fired back, falling silent.

 

Sherlock nodded lightly. “Good.” he said just for the sake of having said something.

 

They continued their walk in the mood of this uncomfortable silence until Sherlock had to ask John to walk back to the flat to rest his slightly swollen feet.

He threw himself over the length of the sofa taking and releasing deep breaths, closing his eyes and trying to slip into relaxation mode as he needed to a lot lately. He felt John's hand caressing up his clothed shin shortly before he lifted both of Sherlock's legs and added his weight to the seating of the couch himself. The Omega's feet and calves found new ground in John's lap, where his soles experienced their first massage and take it from him, John knew what he was doing!  
When Sherlock opened his eyes to look at John, he caught his eyes immediately as they were resting on his face with a loving, yet thoughtful air. Reassured they were still okay, he closed his eyes again, enjoying the tension releasing attention his mate was giving him.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark. And also not the living room. In fact, he dimly recognised it to be their bedroom. It was dark outside and John's steady, deep breathing a warm feeling in his chest. He rolled around to where his mate lay on his back, one arm on his belly, the other trapped beneath Sherlock's back. He regarded John for a moment, then draped himself over more than half of John's body and fell back asleep within mere minutes.

The next time he woke, it was to John's voice, waking him softly.

 

The little stirring he did should have been signal enough to show he was conscious. “I'm off to work now, love. There's breakfast in the fridge, just re-heat it, okay?” he leaned over the Omega's body to kiss his cheek and brushed his side quickly. “See you later.”

 

John stepped back from the bed and Sherlock swung his arm behind himself and waved his hand up and down. John understood, stopped and took his hand. “What is it?” he asked and followed as he was weakly pulled back into the room.

  
Sherlock reluctantly rolled onto his back and pulled at John's hand. The Alpha understood and bent down to give his Omega a proper kiss. “Now you can go.” Sherlock said and turned away from him again. He heard John chuckle behind him as he left the room.  
Sherlock got up about two hours later, enjoying the hearty breakfast John had left him. He decided to go out for shopping afterwards – John's taste in clothing was not really his own style, so why wait for him to return from work in the afternoon and then take him out to argue about choice of clothing.

There was one shop in relatively close proximity to their flat, because Sherlock wanted the exercise of walking rather than taking a cab, that sold maternity clothing. Sherlock entered and wanted to turn right back around. It was all flowery and puffy and bright, pale colours. But he would have to come here eventually anyway as there would come a time not even the biggest shirts and trousers he could find around here would be a comfortable fit any more with the way his body was shaping. He threw the young shop assistant approaching with a big smile a glare and she immediately busied herself with something else. He scanned the shop to determine a pattern that would guide him to where he'd have to look and found that they organised by approximate-sizes-per-month. Who ever would need maternity clothes before they reached three months was beyond him, but they wouldn't be there if they didn't get sold, he supposed. He went to have a look at the four-months-section, starting at the smaller sizes, as he was right in the middle at the moment, and stopping at the smaller five-months sizes – everything else looked just barely bigger than the clothes he was wearing right now; some of John's wider clothing he hadn't worn since before he'd joined the army and which were already quite snug on Sherlock's hips. He frowned. Calculating for how long he could continue to wear his mates old clothes until he'd have to wear new ones was difficult with something as random and indeterminable as a pregnancy, especially one with multiples. Any day now the could start growing like the numbers of a well-fed bacteria colony and then he'd be buying clothes every day until the spurt settled down to give way for another possible one. A frustrated sigh escaped him as his left hand supported his back, out of reflex rather than actual need, and his right hand reached up to cup his forming belly. He'd had a couple of conversations with John about how different their perception of weight and body shape was. While John always looked fine to Sherlock, the Omega had been freaking out himself as his concave belly had started to first soften and then even flatten out. Everyone else had declared him 'looking healthy' while he was dreading to become fat and flabby. Now he was actually beginning to enter the convex side of life, and while he felt unmanageably happy and content with being pregnant – a state he'd dreamed about since he'd been a little boy and given up on when he didn't present even in his late teens – _and_ didn't mind the belly and the thin layer of fat around it any more, he still felt very self-conscious about the fact that he was going to be positively _huge_ by the end of it and might not be able to ever lose the weight or even the breasts he was going to grow. Thinking of himself all bloated, in feminine shape, saggy belly and stretch marks everywhere, job quit because he couldn't physically keep up any longer – it disgusted him. John would leave him, surely, for a more attractive version. No, John wasn't the kind of man to do that. But they'd stop kissing and touching and having sex, which was bad because Sherlock liked sex! And as someone who got addicted so easily, he got a little addicted to John's closeness. And his cock.

To think these four little dreams could ruin it all... he inhaled sharply, pulling out of his little blues and concentrating on the task at hand: finding clothes for the foreseeable future. After picking and trying on a number of outfits that looked the most descent this shop got (dark blue, green and purple t-shirts) he selected ten of the shirts (green ones with buttons down the collar in a short row or just plain, blue and purple ones following the same 'style') and ten black and dark blue trousers with elastic bands out of the mid-sixth-months section. He'd wear belts a long as necessary and could go from there!

A grumble at the cashiers overly friendly tone and he was headed home, having had quite enough reminders gathered that confirmed he was to look like a pregnant horse in a short bit.  
There was still two hours until John returned from work and so Sherlock made use of the time by pulling out his secret diary and tape measure from a second ground in their closet and took measurements, writing down the 4 inch difference around his belly to last week.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi again!  
> Before I forget: chapter 10 earned me quite an amount of kudos and several bookmarks as well, but where were the comments?? I'm very sure some of you could have thrown a couple of my babies back at me, so where are my dictionaries?? :c Please don't kidnap them, give them back!!
> 
>  
> 
> :D


	12. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft finally gets his will of spoiling his baby brother's babies.   
> Sherlock is confused and horny - as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sooo short :'( But I'm afraid, from now on, most chapters are going to be rather short as I am not sure how many ideas I'll have that aren't too similar to each other and I've got a lot of chapters to fill with at least a bit of plot. Yes, plot will continue to be quite present in the future, but no worries, I won't forget about the smut - how could I :3

“I do hope you have managed to settle into your newly discovered omega nature by now?” Mycroft greeted with an unkind smile.

 

“Oh, yes, mock me all you will, Mycroft, no one can blame you for your ignorance on what it means to be an Omega. How would you? You already live the difficult struggle of being an Alpha!” Sherlock agreed in mock indignation.

 

Mycroft leaned forward against his black umbrella, his expression patronizing. “I think you will find your mate will agree that being an Alpha is not quite as.. 'relaxing' as you seem to think.”  
  
John merely lifted an eyebrow, not even raising his gaze from where it fixed his laptop's screen.”I am not going to be part of your childish squabbles.”

 

“Quite right. I suppose you could take John as a role model whilst learning how to be responsible.” the older brother kept picking with the usual arrogance adorning his face.  
  
“Although,” John butted in, still not looking up, ”I can't even begin to imagine what being an Omega is like. I mean being alpha isn't always easy and pleasant, but we've had about 30 years to adjust to it and, since I've gotten used to it, I don't always realise that any more. Growing up with it makes it a bit easier, I guess..”

 

Mycroft's smile got even more tense. “Quite right.” Then he watched John finally lift his gaze to him, then quickly shift to Sherlock, who grinned in amusement. John's own laughter stayed in his eyes, but it was no less obvious there. He, more or less accidentally, clicked his tongue as he took in a deep breath, his features straightened again. “I have informed Mummy, of course-”

 

“I noticed and was hardly surprised because; of course you would.” Sherlock interrupted, idly pulling at the strings of his violin, giving the patronising smile back to the, apparent owner.

 

“Since I knew you wouldn't..” of course, Mycroft wouldn't miss out on the opportunity, but neither would Sherlock; letting his brother have the last word would be like complimenting Anderson on his intelligence – unacceptable.

 

“I relied on your instinctual longing to tell on me to Mummy.”

 

“Yes, you both know each other's habits very well after spending your childhoods together. A very good sibling bond. Can we move on now?” John interrupted again.

 

Both brothers looked at him, a little scandalised – much to his amusement – before Mycroft continued. “So, I assume they have paid you a visit already?”

 

“As if you don't know.” Sherlock said, giving him an annoyed look.

 

“Well, I hope you already informed them about your precise plans then?”

 

“No, they were mainly chatting – you know how the are.”

 

“But you do have plans?”

 

“Mycroft-”

 

“Understand that I am trying to help you, Sherlock!”

 

“Despite what you might think of him, John is very capable of 'helping' me!”  
  
“You can't just rely entirely on your mate, Sherlock! Be sensible!”  
  
“Oh, so, instead I should rely on you?!”

 

“Financially, yes. Anything might happen any day, but my savings will have you off comfortably, no matter what happens- listen, John. I estimate there is no reason in telling you that I do regard you as a capable Alpha and an appropriate mate for my brother. You are, in fact, one of the few I would trust with my life, which is to be taken as a great compliment and not one to be expected a single more time. I trust your competence in any field, including your profession, but you know yourself how little you can afford on your wages as it is.”  
  
“Yes, Mycroft, I get it, I have accepted this fact by now – I don't have that big a problem with your proposals anymore.”

 

“John-”

 

“Sorry, Sherlock, but you were the one who tried to push me into accepting any offers in the first place. I have finally agreed to it and I don't understand why you are now putting these childish fights between everything.”

 

There was a small pause in which Sherlock looked as if he was close to crying about being betrayed. “Because he keeps picking on me!” He barked defensively

 

John looked like he was suddenly smacked in the face with both pity and amusement. “It's really not easy to settle into a secondary gender like that, is it?”  
  
“No! It's... overwhelming.. all these hormones and emotions..” in fact, every time he thought he'd gotten the upper hand, a new situation swept over him like a tidal wave, taking him by too much of a surprise to battle it down in time. The satisfied smile on John's face and the mocking raised eyebrow on Mycroft's didn't make him feel any more dignified.

 

John turned the attention from him by addressing Mycroft with a frown. “Why are you so keen to help us out anyway? What's in it for you?”  
  
“The certainty that my nieces and nephews are well off? I think it is fairly obvious that Sherlock will be the only one to continue the family-line. Considering that makes me an uncle and our parents very happy, it is in my best interest to see to their safety and comfort.”

 

“Yes, Mycroft, you're a real angel.”   
  
“Sherlock.” John warned softly.

 

“I will have a regular transaction to send you a sum of money monthly, should there be questions or complications, you know how to get in touch.” Mycroft gave them both the once-over. “I will better take my leave now, I can see you two need some time to.. discuss.” And with that, Mycroft pranced away.

 

John frowned at Sherlock in question. “What did he mean?”

 

Sherlock's answer was his 'could you be more stupid' look. “He was obviously referring to your pheromones nearly drowning us all.”  
  
“What? _My_ pheromones?! Have you smelled yourself?” John retorted with an amused look.

 

It seemed nowadays they spent a lot of time just staring at each other intensely. It seemed nowadays it always ended in some sort of sexual encounter.

Sherlock leaned forward, crawling into John's lap like a cat, cupping his face and tilting it up to kiss him. “Had anyone ever told me I would once be addicted to kissing someone, I'd have declared them mad..”

 

“What about your sex addiction?” as if on cue, the Omega began moving his hips, bumping his growing erection into John's.

 

“Hm, and that, yes.” he mumbled, followed by an onslaught of mouthing John's neck, knowing well how sensitive he was there. He shoved his hands under the hem of his jumper, pulling at up and over his head before starting to unbutton his own shirt. As soon as they were both bare-chested, Sherlock arched forward into John, who threw his arms around his torso to grab the Omega's plumper arse, pulling him closer, budging forward a bit as well so they were flush together. As his hands pawed all over Sherlock's back, the taller man, sucked in more air than strictly necessary, inflating his small belly as he rutted against his mate. John's heavy breathing and hectic, helpless clawing at his body were a great satisfaction to his efforts of undoing his Alpha in every way he knew was effective.

 

“Say, Sherlock... Are.. Are you actively trying to.. make me come in my pants.. as often as possible?”

 

Sherlock gave a low, rumbling chuckle. “Close already?”

 

“What do you think?!” John panted, searching desperately for support in his mates moving frame.

 

“I would stop and undress properly, but....”

 

“Trapped yourself, huh?” John asked with a smug grin.

 

“Shut up..!” there was a mewling sound, that confirmed John – Sherlock was too far gone himself already. It was the same mewling every time, John had remembered it as one of the standard noises Sherlock made during sex. It was a high-pitched, strangled sounding little sound that marked the point of no return for the Omega. There followed a series of moans that always sounded like Sherlock was surprised about having sex – something John would never really understand, but appreciated for the arousing effect they had. When Sherlock had rutted himself to his climax, he leaned forward heavily, trapping John between the chair and himself. The Alpha followed just a second later.

 

John lay his arms around the Omega lazily, gently caressing his bare back, bringing one hand around to stroke the tiny bump, now having the space to do so as Sherlock had let the air out. “You are horrible, you know that?”

 

Sherlock made a small confirming noise in the back of his throat, starting to kiss his way along John's neck again. “You should call your work, tell them you're on paternity leave.”

 

“You're eleven weeks along, Sherlock, if I tell them I'm on paternity leave already, they'll fire me.”

 

“Good.”

 

“What?!”

 

“You don't need to work any more, John, I thought that was established by now.”

 

“If we're both going to be home all day, we'll be fighting all the time.” John argued, tired of telling Sherlock the same things over and over again.

 

“Why would we do that?”

 

“Because that's how humans work, we need change.”  
  
“But we love each other.”  
  
“Yes, that's-.. that alone doesn't satisfy the human mind, Sherlock.”

 

“Why not? Isn't that what people always say they're searching for in life?”  
  
John gave a kiss to his mate's curls. “Sentiment, Sherlock, sentiment.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On "demand", I created a tumblr account to match this AO3 account. If you have any prompts and want to discreetly push them my way there, here you go: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kinkmerighthererightnow


	13. Lazy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An appointment at the obstetrician's and a very lazy end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry for the incredibly short chapter, but I just.. don't know. I didn't feel like writing too much to this since there are more visits to the doctor's coming anyway and I have a much more interesting chapter ready and steady for you anyway ;)  
> Hope you enjoy the laziness of a 2am me after close to no sleep anyway :D I really needed to finish two chapters tonight! ^^'

“So, how are you feeling, Mr. Holmes?” His doctor asked, friendly smile on her lips as she shook first his then John's hand before sitting down at her desk again.

 

“Heavy.” Sherlock replied grumpily.

 

Dr. Field laughed softly. “I understand this is your completing three months week?” Sherlock nodded. “Well, thanks to the number and size of your pups, according to your last ultrasound, it is logical for you to be more advanced than a usual three-month-mark looks like, but, believe me, Mr. Holmes, this is nothing compared to what awaits you in about a month.”

 

“In a month?”

 

“Yes, usually an Omega's growth spurts start after the first trimester, namely with the beginning of the fifth month. That's when even a small single pup starts making itself visibly known.”

 

Sherlock's eyes went large, his eyebrows furrowing. He cast a panicked look over at John, who frowned back at him in question.

 

“Everything alright, Mr. Holmes?”

 

“I've started putting out last week and I have grown 10 inches in _a week_! Just how large am I going to get?!” John lay a soothing hand on Sherlock's thigh as he felt him stir internally.

 

“No need to be alarmed. Multiples tend to show earlier and growth spurs are irregular in time spans and intensity. I trust your mate could have informed you?”

 

“It wasn't really an issue until now. You were never this disturbed by the thought – what's wrong?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

After another moment of frowning, John's expression softened and he squeezed Sherlock's leg gently. The Omega had been distressed ever since Mycroft had come to visit last week, but never told John why. He possibly didn't know himself.

 

As Dr. Field noticed there would be no more words on the topic, she continued, changing the subject. “Have you made plans on birth and birthing practices?”

 

“Well, natural birth is very much out of the question, as you've said yourself on our last visit, so there isn't really much choice, is there?”

 

“I am afraid not, but it is still your right to decide otherwise.”

 

“I'll leave it to you, love. I can't force you.”

 

Sherlock studied both of their faces for a moment. “We'll see.” he then simply stated, brushing the topic off. He didn't like hospitals. Much less did he like having to lay in one, unable to do anything and besides, how hard could it be? A bit of cramping, a bit of pushing, out comes a baby. He could do that. Shouldn't be worse than heat.

 

“What about practices? There are groups or private classes, for experienced Omegas, we give the opportunity to take pamphlets and do the practising on their own, but that stage you haven't reached yet, have you, first pregnancy and all.” It wasn't a question, just information. “Of course, you can go without practises, again, nobody can force you, but I would strongly advice you do.”  
  
“What are the pros and cons of groups and private classes?” John asked curiously.

 

“Well, groups, of course, have the upside of feeling as a collective, not like you are alone and on your own with pains and worries, the downside being, there are other people, mostly couples and not everyone might get along with everyone else. That's the beauty of private lessons: Just the couple and their teacher. The con is, it's more expensive and you have to pay for it yourselves.”

 

John and Sherlock looked at each other. “Yeah, we'll take the private classes.” said John for the both of them.

 

Dr. Field grinned a little. She was quite intelligent and seemed to have long understood that Sherlock was a difficult person and John wasn't much of a social man either. “Good, here is a pamphlet with the different midwives we recommend. You can take that home and decide until your next appointment so that we can arrange for you to get familiar as soon as possible with the chance of switching should you not see them fit.” John nodded, taking the paper from her, pocketing it.

“Now, Mr. Holmes, we are just going to run a few tests this time, yes? I just want to take your blood pressure, a sample of both your blood and your urine and I would like to take a peek downstairs.”

 

As Sherlock retreated into the toilet cubicle attached to the room, Dr. Field focused her friendly smile on John. “I notice the two of you still share a very close relationship?”

 

John nodded once. “Yes, it hasn't really changed since his first appointment here. I mean, the nausea was gone very fast and is replaced by mood-swings, as you may have noticed, but I think we're handling quite well.” he smiled back.

 

“Good, that's very good! A strong emotional bond between the parents is almost even more important for an unborn pup than a born one. But especially the intercourse is essential to keep the Omega's hormones balanced, give the pups a healthy growth and, of course, prepare labour. Being penetrated enough helps the Omega's ability to stretch and make birth easier – if it is a natural one. But I assume you know that, don't you?”  
  
“Yes.” John nodded with a light red tinge on his cheeks. He really wasn't shy about sexuality, but talking about his sex life itself remained a trifle awkward to him.

 

When Sherlock emerged the toilet with the small jar and handed it to the doctor, he was instructed to get ready on the examination chair as she would draw blood then and bring both out to a nurse who'd get them to the lab.

 

“Alright, love?” John asked when the doctor had left the room.

 

“Yes, shouldn't I be?”

 

“No, no. Just checking.” John answered giving a small smile that was returned before leaning down for a quick peck that ended in a deep kiss.

 

The rest of the appointment was just Dr. Field remarking how well everything looked and that they were doing a good job with the situation. On their way out, she asked them to make a new appointment and to remember looking through the pamphlets.

 

At home in 221B, John proceeded to make some tea whilst Sherlock sat down on the sofa, taking a look at those descriptions and pictures of midwives, without making any decision yet, but loudly deducing that one of them was cheating on their Beta boyfriend and another having had two miscarriages himself. John turned on the telly and ordered Sherlock lay down with his feet in his lap so he could massage them – a relaxing activity to John as it turned out, much to his mate's delight. Sherlock closed his eyes and went over thinking, discussing with himself the pros and cons of birthing methods and of what he already knew about the midwives. Sometime nearing the evening, John shook him awake, the rich taste of his cooking filling Sherlock's nostrils as a plate was set down on the small table next to him. He sat up and ate with John, watching some sci-fi show his partner liked.

 

In bed they lay side by side for a long while, cuddling, tracing light patterns with fingertips, kissing, enjoying. They finished of the day with Sherlock climbing on top of John, kissing him deeply, sliding down between his legs and sucking him off with expertise while stroking himself to completion.   
  


Apart from the appointment, it had been a really lazy day and Sherlock couldn't deny he had enjoyed it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: let me just advertise my new-ish tumblr again. It can be found on my profile (actually that's about all you can find there), but, idk, I'm tired. I'm seeing Martin Freeman's face in every actor that doesn't even remotely look like him..  
> http://kinkmerighthererightnow.tumblr.com/  
> There's... "art"...


	14. Nightshifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get called in on a case just after John finished his nightshift at the hospital.

John walked out the hospital with a sigh of relief – night shifts had never been his favourites. He'd much rather spend the night cuddled up into Sherlock than running up and down the halls of the quiet, sterile building just for the sake of doing _something_.

He'd been texting with his mate all evening until he told him to go to bed at around 11pm, which was responded to by a call from Sherlock, leading to their first ever telephone sex because he was missing him and he was just 'thinking of you, John and immediately got aroused, so find a restroom to wank in', which John did. It had been magnificent. Just hearing the sounds Sherlock always made gave him the opportunity to let his imagination run wild with pictures. Starting with Sherlock touching himself because he longed for him so much, passing the most cliché positions that John didn't usually allow himself and ending in him spread under Sherlock in the most Omega position of all: face buried and held down into a pillow, head just tilted to the side to let him breathe, but also giving him a fantastic view of Sherlock ploughing into his drawn up in the air arse, swollen belly gliding over it with every move.  
He flung his hand up high to stop a cab. Then doing the same with the next that came by.  
On the one hand, he wished Sherlock was up already so he could at least give him a blow job before dropping dead after a night of keeping himself up with the help of boredom. On the other hand, he was really very tired.  
He'd been on the cab for barely two minutes before his phone chimed. “Case? SH” it read. Sherlock had started asking John about taking cases rather than just doing so – he'd learned it had John much more compliant, that smart prick. He'd been tired, mostly off boredom, but the prospect of an interesting case was really rather enticing and it gave him new energy. He confirmed and almost instantly got a reply saying “Meet me at the Yard, Lestrade wants to brief us there. SH”

So, John told the driver to go to NSY instead of Baker Street, which was, fortunately, just round the corner from where they had gotten.  
John made his way up to Greg's office, exchanging a greeting with a couple of sergeants and constables he'd got to know over the time working with Sherlock. Greg was already awaiting them, waving him right through into his office with the offer of a cup of coffee.

 

“Nah, thanks, I've just had some before I finished my shift.”

 

“Probably a good choice – stuff tastes awful.” answered Greg causing them both a fit of chuckling. “Please, sit down!” he offered, moving to his own chair.

 

John moved over, just reaching the offered seat when his knees gave in and he collapsed by it, eyes wide in shock of the sudden feeling of weakness through his whole body.  
  
“Jesus, John, you alright?!” Greg asked with audible worry as he helped his friend back up.

 

“Something happened to Sherlock.” John simply stated, turning around, trying to make his way out of the room on wobbly legs.

 

“Wait, hang on, what?” the DI questioned, going after him and grabbing his arm to stop him. “How about you sit down for a minute-”  
  


“No, I can't, I must- Sherlock...” John mumbled, protesting mildly as he was lead back to the desk and sat down in the chair he was on his way to before.

 

“Alright, how much sleep've you had? Have you eaten?”  
  
John shook his head in dismiss, he wanted to get up again, but felt he wouldn't make it to the door. “I'm telling you, Greg, something happened to Sherlock.” he insisted, feeling his breathing speed up, knowing what followed would be a panic attack. “I can feel it. Something's wrong.” he panted, voice giving in slightly.

 

“Sherlock is on his way here, John. Let's just wait till he gets here, so you can see he's okay, hm?”

 

“He won't make it.” John simply breathed, trying to get his body back under control.

  
“How d'you know?” Greg asked, kneeling down in front of him to see his face turned toward the floor.

 

“Through our bond.” John replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“What? Wait, what?! You can actually feel him through that?!”  
  
“Yeah? Can't you feel your wife through yours?”  
  
“No, I always thought that was a legend! To be honest, most people do.. wait. Does that mean you two are soul mates?! Bloody hell, I knew you were good for that man!”

 

“Greg, something just happened to him!”

 

“Oh, right, sorry. Okay, I'll be sending Donovan down to Baker Street to see if he's still there. You're staying with me.”

 

“No, I have to go.”

 

“John, you're in no condition to face your mate in whatever condition he's in! You're staying here until we figure this out. There might be danger there and you can barely stand, let alone face it.”

 

“But I have to..” John whispered weakly as Greg went in front of the door to call his sergeant, who immediately grabbed a colleague to take with her to check on Sherlock. “He's pregnant, what if it's something to do with our pups? He's only just entered the second trimester, he could be having a miscarriage-”

 

“John, calm down. There is nothing you can do but wait now. Please breath deeply and slowly, someone's getting you a glass of water and we'll know for sure in a bit.” the other man spoke in a calming voice that didn't much help him. He felt numb, unable to move a muscle, his mind blank – the most frightening thing being he couldn't feel Sherlock any more. He felt the beginnings of nausea rising deep in his stomach and physically forced the water down his throat when it was handed to him.  
  
He placed his head in his hands, elbows resting on the wooden desk as his friend stroked his back soothingly, continuing to talk to him. John knew he was just trying to keep him from passing out entirely, but there was nothing but white noise in his ears as he tried to get back in contact with his mate.  
A couple of minutes later, he felt Greg shaking his shoulder a little more insistently and gathered consciousness to his surroundings as his voice faded back in.

 

“.. freak out, but Sherlock is not at Baker Street any more. Mrs. Hudson confirmed he'd left just seconds before you collapsed. I told Donovan to mobilise a team to start looking for him and...” and that's all John needed to hear.

 

“You won't find him...” he breathed, slowly getting back on his feet, mumbling something about being alright as he started a slow shuffle towards the door. Greg tried to hold him back, but John shook his head and walked on, so Greg accompanied him and drove him home, giving him over into his landlady's capable hands and swearing to leave no stone unturned until they found Sherlock.  
  
John pushed past Mrs. Hudson's fawning and dove for the flat straight away, closing and locking both doors leading inside. It was a horrible move against the elder lady, he knew, but he couldn't bear a soul around him right now. He went to lay down in their bed, flopping down on Sherlock's side to inhale his scent, calm his mind. He spent hours trying to get connected to his mate again, but it wasn't until the early evening, with many missed calls, text messages and unanswered knocks at the door, that he finally felt something again. It was blurry, weak and unstable, but he could feel him again. He was alive. God, damn it, he was alive!  
John actually shed some tears at the great relief and picked up his phone to text Greg those news, rejecting his offer to come around for some comfort and then informed Mycroft, who'd tried contacting him as soon as John had left the Yard, as well. He didn't doubt a second that some camera had filmed him leave with Greg and getting into his car and that the older Holmes brother had somehow deduced through that, that Sherlock had gone missing. Not too difficult to figure out, now that he thought about it.  
He made himself a coffee to wait away the hours left till his next night shift began.  
He just sat there, in his chair, looking at Sherlock's chair as if he would materialise out of it.

 

Later, John went back to the hospital. He'd agreed on two more months of work just last week, so he could be with Sherlock from his six-months-mark since they reckoned he'd begin to have minor problems then. The first colleague that saw John wanted him to go back home straight away, but he told that nurse off in his doctor's authority. He went to sit at his desk, plastic cup of coffee to his right, phone to his left, always waiting for someone to tell him they found Sherlock.  
His mate was blinking in and out of his mind throughout the entire night and John started to go mad with the instability of their connection. The most comfortable scenario he could think of was that his mate was somewhere in some kind of drug den, taking some shit every few hours that knocked him out quite thoroughly.   
It was the most relaxing because he knew Sherlock wouldn't do that. Not pregnant. Knowing that such a horrible thing couldn't be going on appeased his mind a little and was a good strategy to keep it from going somewhere worse than that. Sherlock loved those pups; it was tangible in every breath he took, every fleeting caress of his belly, every short glance down to see that it was still happening.  
It never seized to fascinate and simultaneously scare John how overwhelmed Sherlock still seemed to be by everything. The pregnancy was one thing, but he figured that for someone who'd been without gender for over thirty years, being pregnant must be one astonishingly alien idea. It was more his reaction to John that was endearing, yet concerning. What must people have told him so that he'd now still have that minimal flinch in his expression whenever John initiated mild touching?, to hold onto and pursue John so longingly whenever he just pecked his lips?, to look so surprised, privileged, lucky when he realised John was going to push him all the way to his orgasm?, or just the very vocal way he confirmed his pleasure as if unable to comprehend it any other way?  
He knew Mycroft and him had a complicated relationship, but that was just their version of ordinary sibling rivalry and if either of them was cold and detached, it was definitely Sherlock, not Mycroft. He was sure his older brother had been a dick to him now and then, but overall very caring and gentle with his 'fragile' baby brother – he knew what a sensitive soul he was after all. Maybe it had been the oldest one of them then, Sherrinford. After all, the family rarely even mentioned him, who knew just what he did to deserve such a treatment from the most fluffy couple of parents John had ever met.  
He could have been bullied. Actually, that was something he could very easily imagine. Children could be real arseholes and he'd had his fair share of it when he'd helped out victims in his time, so someone as extraordinary as Sherlock was very easily pictured in their midst, pointed and laughed at, robbed of his books and pushed around.

But whoever it was that bared the guilt of having made Sherlock who he was today, it might just as well be their fault he was missing now because Sherlock would likely not be working with the Yard now, wouldn't have so many enemies, probably wouldn't even know John. But at least, he'd be safe.  
John left his room to get another coffee, his eyelids heavy as fuck, but he couldn't sleep now, not on duty. Besides, Greg could call him any minute.  
He picked up his phone and looked through what few pictures he had on it. There were five of him and Sherlock; one attempted selfie, four shot by Greg or Molly and then sent to him. Then there were 12 photos of Sherlock, capturing the twelve weeks of pregnancy he'd already gone through. Today he would have taken the thirteenth picture with Sherlock glowering at him for this stupid idea.  
He flicked through the photos back and forth, watching Sherlock's little tummy steadily grow and shrink again. Suddenly, he couldn't hold back a tear. What if this was the last he had of him? What if he'd never see him again because they can't find him or they do and then he's just dead? His last words to the love of his life would have been “Fine, where? JW” - those are terrible last words! They could be read in any emotion. It wasn't a love-filled “Sounds good to me, where will I see you, love? JW” or “I'd rather not, love, I'm very tired and would very much just like to fall asleep cuddled up against you. JW”. It was a bloody “Fine, where? JW”

Fuck.  
He reached up a hand to scrub down his face. This couldn't be it, right? Almost forty years with drunk authorities, drunk siblings, war and losing friends as he told them to stay with him while he tried stopping their blown-up limbs from bleeding out, and now he'd lose the most important of them all with a “Fine, where? JW” on his mind?! This must be some kind of cosmic joke, the universe laughing at him for being naïve enough to ever think he could have a life with a family.

He just wanted his family.

 

Greg came to visit him the next day, when John had finished another event-less shift. He entered the living room with a knock to the door that stood lightly ajar to find an absent-minded John just staring at Sherlock's chair, hot cup of coffee gone cold in his hands. “Hey, mate, how are you?” he asked pulling over the small wooden chair from their desk as he knew John wouldn't like anyone sitting and possibly covering the scent in Sherlock's chair.

 

“It aches.”

 

“What does?” Greg continued t ask gently.

 

“My whole body. Like a bomb has exploded right in front of me and ripped half of me away. It literally, physically hurts.”  
  
“Your bond is still very young and strong.. But I s'pose that never seizes in a soul mates' bond anyway...” the DI mused. Taking a good look at John's figure again and drawing conclusions from the cold coffee, the reddened eyes, darker rings under the eyes and overall slumped and lifeless posture, he asked “have you slept at all?”  
  
John didn't do more than blink and answer “no, couldn't. Have a whole week of night shifts.”

 

“Bloody hell, you didn't work like this, did ya?!”Greg asked incredulously. When John didn't answer, he continued. “Alright, your going straight to bed, John.”

 

“I still won't sleep. I can't.”

 

The older man grabbed the lifeless body by its shoulders and heaved it up to stand. “As exhausted as you are, you will, trust me.”

 

“No, really, Greg, I can't. I could have fallen asleep at work, where I sat hours just staring ahead, not taking a sip of coffee, or even here these past few hours, but I just can't. I can't...”

 

“Well, then, you probably have some pills around, right? Something to help you sleep?“ Greg asked as he supported John on the way to the bedroom. He didn't put up a fight because he probably just could gather enough strength any more. John vaguely shook his head. Greg sighed as he loaded him off onto the bed. “Okay, I'll get you some so you can sleep, yes? And you're going to call in ill at the hospital.”

 

As Greg left the flat to fetch some medication, John crawled out of bed and tumbled back out of the bedroom, closing an locking both doors to the flat. He threw a fleeting glance at the cabinet containing their meds in the bathroom as he passed it on his way back. He didn't want any pills, he wanted Sherlock. And if he must, he would stay awake until he dropped dead. Going on medication would only take his ability to get the phone when someone called to tell him news about Sherlock. Besides, he'd been awake longer when he was in Afghanistan. Two or three days wouldn't kill him.

 

Somewhere across the city Sherlock blinked awake again, the hairs on his body raised at the cold air in the large, empty room. Whatever they'd given him, it must have been very strong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, everyone! I know I'm an arse ^_^


	15. The Claws of Anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has been captured and is struggling to stay calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 327 Kudos, 101 Comments (granted, half of which are my replies to your comments) and 64 bookmarks?! Woah, it's only 14 chapters, guys, I am overwhelmed! Thank you so much!  
> Due to my sudden burst of gratitude, I am giving you the next chapter already instead of leaving you hanging with anticipation after that last one. Next one will take a bit again, though - haven't begun it yet, but it's all right there in my head ;)

Somewhere across the city Sherlock blinked awake again, the hairs on his body raised at the cold air in the large, empty room. Whatever they'd given him, it must have been very strong.  
His nose filled with the sting of the deep and brutal chill, making it feel as if he was catching fire from the inside, his own body temperature burning against the numbness of the cold outside.  
His arms settled around his belly as he came to more and more, an unconscious attempt at keeping his pups warm even as he was shaking with the low temperature.  
A moan escaped the back of his throat as something stirred inside him; something that felt dangerously like nausea.  
He felt sick all over.  
His muscles were still mostly lax, slowly tensing more and more as his brain gave orders to move, but the cold tickled their reflex to try and produce warmth through the exertion. Honestly, the human body wasn't really an expert at keeping itself warm, but then again, why would it be? Evolution had reduced the necessary fur and fat layers with the growing use of clothing. However, a too tight shirt and some tailored trousers didn't provide much warmth in an unheated room in what looked like the basement to an apartment building. Screaming wouldn't do though, he was sure. Besides, remaining calm would be healthiest – he wouldn't risk his pups like that in a fruitless attempt to get out, especially when he didn't know his enemy.  
He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the cold wall to get his mind to focus. He could make out three scents: his own, his pups' and a masked one that smelled of a beta undertone. Beta and using scent masks? Unusual. Normally unnecessary. Which made it a brilliant technique.  
There was no noise, but then, that wasn't unusual in a basement.

He suddenly wished he hadn't put on a new shirt that morning. He longed for John's scent so badly. It felt like he hadn't seen him for an eternity, as ridiculous as that sounded. He could barely feel John through their bond even though he sought him out with all his concentration. The was an ache starting in the back of his head so he left it at that for now. It wouldn't do to ruin his entire concentration by encouraging a major headache and he shouldn't strain his limbic system or else he might lose John completely.

He looked down at his bare feet. One of them had this big iron chain locked around his ankle, tying him to the wall right next to the bed and making practically any laying position uncomfortable in one way or another. Not that sitting was very homey with the freezing touch of metal against his foot.  
He shifted a little, getting more into a horizontal position to ease some of the strain off his back. His small belly wasn't heavy yet, but an upright position was still exhausting when he wasn't conscious to hold it straight. The slumped over position from before had him in pain now.  
He let his hands drift to and over the small bump, trying to be a comfort to his pups.  
“John.” he pleaded in a whisper.  
He fell asleep with the beating of his heart drumming in his brain.

 

When he woke up again, the scent of the masked Beta was stronger and there was also the aroma of a cooked meal. He regarded it, laying right beside the door, very likely just within his possible reach. He considered resisting and not eating it – he obviously was of value to whoever kept him there so starving himself would at least get him information. But then there were his pups and even the risk of the food drugging him again wouldn't stop him from nourishing who needed him most.  
He pushed himself off the bed, falling straight to kissing the floor, cursing his sleeping muscles and crawled over to the other side of the room. When he couldn't move any further, he stretched his body until he could reach the outermost curve of the plate, pulling it closer bit by bit.  
Back on the dirty mattress, he shovelled the mashed potatoes in his mouth as quickly as possible. If there were drugs in it, he had to make sure he ate as much as possible before they could affect him.

 

The meal finished, he still didn't feel anything. Not drugged then.  
He spent a while examining the metal cuff around his ankle to see if there was anything to work with, but apparently it was of very good quality and not easily broken or picked. He sighed.  
If by now no one had come in to talk to him, but had left food when he was asleep, no one would come as long as he was conscious, so, he figured, he'd dive into his mind palace for a bit, appearing to be asleep.  
It took precisely 1hour and 14minutes until the heavy door opened and someone stepped inside, probably to collect the plate.  
“I figured someone would come in if they thought I was asleep.” Sherlock said monotonously. He opened his eyes and turned his head to regard the tall blond man.  
  
“I am not supposed to talk to hostages without direct orders.” the man replied evenly, stopping in his tracks nonetheless.

 

He had scars visible on his face and neck, his broad shoulders and posture were a very easy give-away to let Sherlock know he had been a soldier for quite some time. “Hostage? What would you want with me as a hostage?” Sherlock questioned, although he had a hunch.

 

“Surely you already know, Mr. Holmes.”

 

“Ah, yes, my brother. Well, surely you're aware that you don't seek out Mycroft's attention; he finds you either way. Taking me in as a hostage to get to my brother is like flying a pink helicopter over London to not be noticed.”

 

“You seem to think you and your brother are the only ones with an IQ reaching levels of true ingenuity, Mr. Holmes. My boss isn't stupid.”

 

“Your boss, I see. And who is your boss, might I ask?”

 

“None of your personal concern.”

 

“Uh, dull.”  
  
The man came closer to pick up the plate from next to Sherlock's bed. “I am just following orders, Mr. Holmes.” Now Sherlock could get a good whiff of the other's scent. It appeared to be the masked Beta scent. So this man was the only one attending him, it seemed. “The food was kosher, by the way. It wouldn't do to risk your health. So, you can eat whatever is brought to you without fear. After all, we wouldn't want those pups to starve to death, would we? That would be very bad for our negotiations.” the man said with a mean grin on his face. “Your Alpha wouldn't cooperate if you or the pups were unwell and then what use would you be to us?”

 

Sherlock frowned, narrowing his eyes. “My Alpha? John doesn't have anything to give to you.”

 

“As I said,” the man began, his smirk growing wider as he left the room, “my boss isn't stupid.” With that, the door fell shut and was locked again.

 

A sharp shiver ran down his spine.  
It didn't make any sense. Why drug him to abduct him and then say it wouldn't do to harm him? If whatever had knocked him out hadn't meant a risk to the pups, then that meant there good chemists on board, which left him with the question of why they didn't want to drug him any more now. If it was safe, then why keep him conscious? Was it necessary for him to witness something? Maybe he was supposed to meet this man, to converse with him. After all, for someone who wasn't supposed to talk to him, he'd said rather a lot.  
Another tremor ran through his back, followed by a little groan he couldn't hold back. His heart clenched and he gasped out John's name. He felt incredibly ill within mere seconds and a surge of exhaustion pulled him right into a restless sleep.

 

When he woke, it was with his mate's name on his lips. That word continued to be his entire vocabulary for several long minutes in which he mouthed it in writhing pain, his abdomen cramping around his turning stomach, the ache in the back of his head now a hammering pain. He needed John. Needed his presence, his comfort, his scent. “Jaawn..” he whimpered one last time before losing himself to silent sobbing as his entire body shook and hurt from the inside out.  
His heart was pounding so strongly he barely had a chance to calm down as he heard it thumping in his ears and felt his throat and wrists moving slightly with the force of it.  
He curled up on his side, it was dark outside and the tiny window let through just a bar of light that shone onto the floor. If it was moonlight, at least he could calculate roughly what time it was, but instead it was cold and artificial. He felt as if someone had thoroughly punched him in the gut and he was sure he'd be throwing up soon if he was kept away from John for much longer. He didn't know much about the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics and much less about different aspects of bonds, let alone soul mates, so he just hoped being separated from his Alpha like this for long wouldn't cause him to miscarry because that was surely what he felt like at the moment. On the other hand, that might just as well be the stress' doing.  
He never seized trying to reach John, though, he kept fighting against that pounding migraine to get some sort of signal over to his mate, but they must have been too far apart, it would seem, although it appeared to be a little more stable now than it had been before – maybe the drugs had had some kind of belated effect on his limbic system. He threw his head back, arching his spine. It felt like something was stabbing his heart while simultaneously running up and down his spine, using it like a xylophone, but instead of playing the instrument, someone took it for ventilation of anger.  
He sank back down onto the bed, panting, not knowing what they had given them that he reacted so violently to, but it was obviously affecting his hormonal status. He was being more irrational than the last couple of weeks. He'd gotten used to that a little, although he still wasn't happy about the lack of control and needed to get a tight grip on it again soon, right now, he was feeling anxious and hurt, even abandoned and betrayed, which he knew John was the last person to accuse of.  
His chest was so constricted, he could feel every muscle clamping down tighter bit by bit, encasing his lungs to the point where the intake of air was painful and every exhale allowed the grip to tighten one more fraction. Soon, he lay there, breathing flat and rapid, all of his muscles tensing up so strongly they jumped in visible tremors, his chest aching as if there was a whole ripped through him, his abdomen sparking in dark red pain.

He writhed on the unkind bed, shaking in his curled up form until he actually feel from to the floor, metal cuff colliding with his ankle painfully as cold sweat pooled with hot tears on the tip of his nose, getting heavier and heavier until gravity claimed its own and Sherlock faced the ground directly.  


 

When his eyes rolled back to the front again and his swimming head was coming back to life, he smelled something warm, something sweet. A noise rang through the empty room and it took him a good while to comprehend it had been his own desperate moan. He tried straightening his upper body from where his hands still touched ice-cold concrete, but as soon as his fingertips lost contact to the only up-and-down orientation he had in that moment, he began swaying, sagging and hitting the floor again. Drowsily, he instead dragged himself over the floor to where the delicious smell came from. He needed sugar, he could physically feel it. When he'd managed crawling toward the hot plate until he could feel the tug of the unmerciful chain, he tried pulling himself further forward, the cold making his body numb enough so that his dizzy brain couldn't register the pain the chafing gave him. He just wanted to reach! Just a bit- yes! He had touched it! Now he only needed to actually pull it to himself when he managed to reach it again. Seven attempts and a couple of minutes later, Sherlock was chewing on a crepe with more bliss than he'd ever felt consuming a meal. He actually heard himself moaning around the bites, although, consciously, he couldn't act to stop himself. When he'd finished ten minutes later, the Alpha from earlier came back inside, handing him a glass of water, which he downed greedily, whining for more afterwards.  
The blond considered him for a moment, red eyes with deep, dark rings, pale and crackling skin, shaking torso as he couldn't leave the ground without his nourishment.  
The Alpha had mercy and poured him a second glass, which was emptied just as easily. There was no further begging – surely because Sherlock knew it wouldn't play out in his favour – but there also were no quips or sarcastic comments. The man had gone down really fast and easily, considering his reputation. Usually, Sherlock stood above those things, but now, cowering on the hard, cold floor, all he could do was to fear for his unborn pups and worry about his mate. There was little possibility to think of anything else and it bothered him; unconsciously, it bothered him. He needed to stay focused and sharp, to converse with this Alpha and gather information. He tried formulating a question, but all that got out was a low mewling sound. The man left him again and he crawled back onto the bed. Maybe the intake of water and carbohydrates would back up his system into functionality. Malnourished, he was just an easier victim to hormones, drugs and all sorts of illnesses.  
He needed to get in contact with John.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought it'd get better, didn't you? Well, pity, I like to be mean :)


	16. The painful push to safety?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape!   
> In the night blurring week three of his kidnapping into week four, Sherlock faces more enemies than the obvious creep. Ironically, it might just lead to his rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah.. I'm not completely happy with this, but I've come to accept that I'm simply just a bad writer ^^ I shouldn't use that smiley - it's a dark chapter  
> You have been warned!

John rubbed his tired eyes. In his medical opinion, not sleeping for almost two weeks wasn't considered healthy. He didn't know how Sherlock did it, going days without rest. This was straining him so badly right now, he was tiredly fascinated with his body's ability to not having folded a week ago. He felt nauseous, had a headache and felt so weak, he was surprised he could still breath. He hadn't even eaten in eight days. It was the Alpha awareness keeping him conscious, he knew; were he a Beta, he'd have collapsed a long time ago. He had one of the nurses, the one that had a crush on him, constantly pacing in front of his office, checking on him every ten minutes.   
The lack of patients these weeks was confusing him greatly, but he couldn't be bothered to give it much thought – his brain couldn't work around it anyway. Just coming in to work was such a mechanical action, running on autopilot.   
  
Coming back home, he shuffled over to and dropped into the sticky leather of Sherlock's chair. The material was ugly against his sensitive skin, nerves lighting up with the clutching of the touch, but Sherlock's scent still lingered here, just a little bit. His eyebrows drew together as his feet lifted onto the seat and his head dropped to where his mate's curls had often been resting, giving his perspiration over into the furniture where it was now preserved, the young smell of his omega nature not yet ingrained enough to be a permanent feature and by now almost gone and replaced with John's own scent, but as long as the illusion was there, Sherlock was there. As long as Sherlock was there, John could never let go.  
The smell was just so... intoxicating. Like the music the Omega often played on his violin when John was angry or having trouble sleeping; calming, sweeping him away, carrying him on what could only be described like a drug trip.   
Some people liked to catalogue scents by icomparing them to fruits or flowers or other natural scents. John never did that. He wanted to smell the human being, not something that smelt similar because he was thinking about it. He wanted to smell Sherlock, not _cinnamon and rose_ or _oakwood and rain_ or what other creative ideas people had for this. Sherlock. Just Sherlock. Sherlock and a bit of that wax for his violin's bow. It was so soothing. Almost hypnotic. If John could fall asleep right now, this was his bed of choice. He'd be moving over to the sofa soon, though. The scent would still be somewhat preserved there. Their bed had given it all up long ago and John, sickly, wished they hadn't washed the bedsheets after Sherlock's heat. They would've smelled so gloriously like him still.  
  
“I do appreciate your sentiment over the absence of my brother, but a lsmall effort to uphold a little bit of dignity and decency would not go amiss, John.”

 

John only tiredly shifted his eyes to lay on Mycroft's person. The stone of a man didn't look too composed himself any more. There were dark rings marking even his pale complexion, showing he had been sleeping bad as well. He had obviously tried to cover them up, but the effect was minimal. Sometimes, John adored Mycroft's way to handle his love for his brother. “I'm tired. I'm not in control of myself anymore. I can't even think, I just... function.” John replied, broken, unable to turn up the sass. He wasn't even capable of standing up to maybe give himself the illusion he was standing strong in front of Mycroft. He could see the pity the Alpha's eyes reflected to his own red and glassy ones. He hated it. “What do you want? Tell me I fucked up?, because I did, you know.. I fucked up so hard.” the doctor continued, gaze drifting off to the side as he didn't even have to battle any tears. He was too drained to shed any.  
  
“Did you?” Mycroft asked coldly. This man's willpower was absolutely enviable.  
  
Somehow, John felt offended by that. Mycroft not telling him off, indirectly acknowledging and approving of this being John's fault, the cold and detached demeanour with which he handled the disappearance of his own fucking brother, the nerve he had to question John's capability as an Alpha in this situation – it just had him boiling lukewarm. “And where were you when it happened, huh?! I know you have cameras practically everywhere, why didn't you intervene?!”

 

“It appears that at the time of his disappearance, I was in a meeting, discussing certain plans on cooperations or counteractions concerning greater powers and their disputes. I was informed belatedly of the abduction of my brother by an unidentifiable man I have since been having whole teams of experts researching on. To no avail, I'm afraid.” Mycroft spoke smugly, but John could hear the regret in his voice. “I was, by no means, trying to offend you. I suppose you recall my words concerning your reliability and I was merely trying to get you to speak of your reasons to blame yourself in this.”

 

John answered with a heavy sigh. “I'm so sorry, Mycroft, that was so not on.. I'm just so tired and riled up... I needed to blame someone else.. But after all, _I_ wasn't here. I wasn't here for him....” John repeated time after time, apparently not having registered Mycroft's indirect question.

  
When John repeated his blame for the tenth time, Mycroft stepped forward, hanging his umbrella from his left arm and gave John a good clap across the cheek. “Now is not the time to die in self-pity, John, Sherlock is still out there, in danger, and he needs his mate sharp!” the taller man snapped and John wondered briefly, woken a little by the unexpected action, just what it was Mycroft did for a living.  
  
After a very short growl at the violence scratching his alpha ego, John immediately fell back into his useless, cowering self, looking up at his mate's brother with puppy eyes as he begged for forgiveness for... he didn't even know what specifically. Mycroft sighed a deep huff and turned around, pulling up a chair to sit in, trying to avoid accidentally challenging John by sitting in his territory right now. John felt the ill desire to bury his face in Mycroft; the familial scent altered, but recognisable in the older brother. “Stop thinking that.” Mycroft said strictly. John still wondered how the brothers did that. “You need to focus.” the man continued to urge.

 

“I haven't slept in 12 days. Were I a Beta, I'd be dead by now.”  
  
“But you're not. You are an Alpha and your mate needs you, John. Think about how _he_ must be doing by now.”  
  
John shook his head, protesting a persistent “no, no, no” as he didn't want to think of his mate's situation other than 'alive'. Another slap followed and John merely whimpered, too exhausted to fight. “I haven't eaten in a week, how would I be of any help..”  
  
“You are our only lead now. -”

 

“Well, then we're _fucked_. _He_ is fucked..” John rasped a defeated cry. “I have _nothing_ , Mycroft, nothing but the knowledge that he's still alive. That's it. That's all I'm getting. I've spent days trying to get into better contact with him, my head is exploding with the effort, but I can't, I can't!” John writhed, frowning deeply against the new wave of stabbing pain in his head.

 

Mycroft's eyes lingered on the broken soldier before him and it made him fear for the condition of his more sensitive brother. He had an idea who could be behind all of this. There was but one man he knew capable of this level of expertise in criminal matters.   
After some consideration, Mycroft stood, taking another step towards John and bent down, giving him a loose, very awkward hug, even if just to reassure himself that this man did care about finding his brother. John didn't move, safe for his head instinctively turning into the contact, trying to get a whiff of the Holmes family scent. Mycroft's masked alpha scent in it reminded him of how Sherlock had smelled before his heat; Holmes, but somehow not Alpha, not Omega, not even Beta, something rare and unique, an identity of his own. God, he missed that smell. It was adventurous and mysterious. Omega was wonderful and just as perfect, but much more obvious. It lacked a certain thrill, which John was fine with, but he still missed the old days nonetheless. Mycroft drew back again and wordlessly left the flat. The dare hung in the air silently, that 'no word would leave this room'.   
Of course, it wouldn't.

 

 

 

Sherlock was tossing and turning. Half-awake, he felt himself drenched in his own sweat, freezing his body in the cold room. He screamed and begged for John, but he couldn't stop. His mind was right there, looking down on himself – the pathetic creature, who'd lost control, but for some reason he also felt a nagging sense of empathy for the helpless, fresh Omega.  
His muscles were clamping down so hard on his organs, he couldn't possibly not roll in on himself, shielding his pouting belly. Another sore cry escaped his throat and he was wondering what for. Everything smelt so repulsively strange and wrong, he wanted to flee or block his nose or do _something_ , _anything_ , to not have it penetrate his senses any longer. A drawn-out, painful moan for his mate was barely interrupted by the screeching of the door, announcing his usual 'company' to the room.

 

“Sherlock Holmes, look at you.” He said with a wide grin in his words. “Don't you always pride yourself with being so composed? Yet, here you are, screaming for your mate. Of course, he can't hear you, but you were already aware of that.” Sherlock despised every one of his smug words. He wanted to snap back at him so badly. “But I'll tell you one thing,” the man said, pausing as he came closer than he'd ever done before, leaning down to almost whisper in his ear. “Despite all the dried piss around here, you smell utterly delectable.” and with that, the man licked a wet stripe over the shell of his ear and Sherlock felt his greasy locks sticking to it. A cold shiver ran down his spine and his eyes snapped open as a hand drifted down his side to his hipbone.

  
Sherlock rapidly fixed an anxious look on the other man. “Don't.... Don't-... _please_... don't!” he pleaded when the realisation hit him.

 

 

 

John was sitting in the shower, trying to ease a bit of tension out of his aching muscles with the too hot water. It was almost enough to make him stop feeling nauseous. With a quick glance at his mobile, he left the warm embrace and dried himself off, dressed and got ready for work.  
No cab seemed to be interested in a broken man's money. He arrived late. Nobody commented.  
They were all aware of his condition. Nobody knew what exactly was going on, but they all sensed and smelled the deep unrest in him and had stopped trying to talk him into going home. He had been put on 'early paternity leave' and wasn't strictly allowed to come in to work now, but he just didn't seem to comprehend that. They had simply taken his patients from him and let him sit in his office to while away the hours in safety and warmth. It seemed the lesser evil.

 

 

He was turned onto his back, pressed down by a hand that, right now, was much stronger than his malnourished, crippled self. He kept begging the Alpha to stop, just the touch of his firm hand against Sherlock's chest was revolting, but the broad man wouldn't have it. He tried kicking and punching and scratching with his unclipped nails, but he couldn't stop his tailored trousers being roughly torn down to his knees, pants following.  
All his protests stopped when he felt the large alpha penis press against his hole. He just went limp, shock washing over his body. On his back, he couldn't even avoid looking at the man. His head fell to the side and he stared into the room, but he could still see the movement on the outermost point in his vision. Hard and ruthless thrust, to pleasure the Alpha's needs. His entrance was burning up with the harsh friction and brutal stretching. His insides quietly tore apart as his mind continued to scream for John – more desperately now than ever before. A silent tear rolled over the corner of his eye, but it only marked the beginning of a group-dance across his face. His dirty shirt scratched at his back as he was pushed back with every unforgiving thrust and forth with the Alpha's hands pulling him back in. The pain his belly grew stronger and more agonising by the second and he was secretly wondering if he was miscarrying their pups right now. With a mental cringe, he thought how wonderful that would be, how much it would spare them, how it would save them from living in this world in which idiots ruled society and humanity would spit in your face, chew on your existence and then spit you back out. At least they'd never have to feel any pain. Maybe he'd die in here or would be kept alive and they'd have to grow up like this, never knowing their admirable father, unable to experience the true love of their Omega as Sherlock deteriorated and withered in a corner. They'd never have to see the emptiness in his existence. They'd be free. And Sherlock would envy them.  
  
  
  
John wandered out to the building's entrance to get himself a coffee. He was down to bracing himself against walls, tremors shaking his body and an old friend ramming needles into his leg. He felt so miserable. His head twitched and jerked into the wall, hitting it hard multiple times. When the open area made him visible to the nurse at the front desk, the young man pushed himself out of his chair to assist, but John raised a trembling hand.   
That particular boy had experienced John's anger in the second week of endless terror as he tried to insist on him going home and John towered his 5'6'' and barked at him until he stood down.

Now John was making his way to the general direction of the desk in a snail's speed. He could feel the waiting patients down one corridor asking themselves why a patient in such a condition was allowed to leave his room, but he didn't care about them.  
  
  
  
A loud growl announced the impending relief of Sherlock's torture. His mind darkly registered a deep joy inside of him. He only hoped the Alpha wasn't in a rut. He wouldn't know the scent of it, but he'd feel the knot ripping him apart.

 

 

 

Suddenly, John's knees gave in and he felt a terrible stab to his heart. The nurse finally gave in to his urge to help and ran towards John as he knelt on the clean floor, struggling for breath. His airways were so tightly sealed, he just couldn't get anything in or out.

 

 

 

His eyes automatically shut tight against the stilling movement of the Alpha, tears welling, jaw clenching as his seed began to spill inside Sherlock. It was disgusting.  
  
  
  
With a final flash of Sherlock's face to his inner eye, John drew a deep breath and collapsed.

 

 

 

As soon as he was spent, the Alpha pulled out of him, zipped his trousers and wordlessly left the room. Sherlock threw up as he felt the foreign semen spurt out of him, drenching the mattress. He coughed heavily, choking on the bitter, thick fluid and hung his upper body lifelessly over the side of the bed as it contracted and expelled more of his stomachs few contents.  
When it finally stopped and he felt wrecked and exhausted, he briefly wondered if he should check for any blood or any evidence he might have miscarried, but he couldn't bring himself to look down to where that sickening gush still clung to him and much less would he take a probe with his fingers. He turned onto his back again, stared at the grey ceiling. A brutal spasm made him jolt up in an arch before he crashed hard into the bed again. Something was up with John. He could feel it. He whined out John's name loudly, hopelessly trying to make his mate hear him. But the void inside him spread until he was consumed by blackness.

 

 

 

 

When John could hear cruel beeping and the rough bursts of his own breath, he snapped to attention, instinct calling out on what he had witnessed right before he passed out like the useless Alpha trash he was. The male nurse was over him immediately gently pushing him back to lay him on the pillow again. “Come on Doctor Watson, back down. You look like you haven't slept in a while and-”

 

“No. Nonononono.” John protested, battling his hands away and climbing out of the bed, denying he had to steady himself on the nurse for a moment. “Sherlock. I need to get Sherlock. I need to get him out of there.” he mumbled on, brain dizzy, still caught up in the haze of final rest after having gone too long without it.  
He simply pushed past the ranting, questioning? nurse and dug out his phone as he grabbed his coat and made his way out. “Greg. Ely Place. Get there now.”

  
“John?! Hang on, what?! Why? Is Sherlock there?! John, don't go in alone. Wait there for us! Do you hear me? Do _not_ go in until we are there! John?!-”

 


	17. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John manages to locate Sherlock, but does that mean everything is rosy again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter - whoohoo!  
> I know, I know.. I am annoyed by them being this short, too, but, for dramatic purposes, this just works best..^^'  
> Hope you enjoy it, though!

John couldn't remember having ever been so doubtless, so determined, so reckless. Rationally, he knew this was a dangerous approach, that it might as well get him killed. But Sherlock was still at risk, had been for way too long and John would get him and their pups to safety, and if it killed him, so be it. He wouldn't live through one more god damn day without Sherlock safe and sound at home, lounging about, boring himself to death or blowing up the kitchen. No more nights having him bury his nose into anything Sherlock has ever just touched to have his scent and not go completely nuts. He had been so tense these weeks, people should consider themselves lucky he was more tired than anything because he could have easily killed out of frustration. Only now, that he had a lead on where his mate was, he was pumped high with hormones and energy, determined to do whatever it would cost to get them back. Screw Greg, he was going in _now_ , the police might come too late.  
He could feel Sherlock more and more intensely. He knew he was getting closer. And the less the distance between them, the more accurately he could locate him.   
The door was locked. Not for long. He entered and made for the steps that would take him downstairs. Down there, he walked the narrow corridor, gun in hand, kicking the doors open as he came past them. The third one he forced open, a shot went through his heart, as did one through the forehead of the Alpha that had just turned to face him. The other person, the desperate and lost Omega, didn't so much as flinch as the stranger dropped to the floor having recognised his mate upon entering. Sherlock's eyebrows drew together as his face pinched in despair and a whine escaped his throat as he scrambled onto his knees on the dirty, smelly bed and started stretching his body towards the approaching John, almost losing balance and falling over. The doctor encased him in his arms the moment he arrived at Sherlock's side, pressing the thin body against his own as he just breathed him in for a moment. Urine, faeces, sweat, vomit, fear, Sherlock.   
Gentle hushing noises were released as the Omega clawed at him, whining, mewling, his whole body shaking while he tried to bury his nose even deeper in John's neck.   
John cast a look to where Sherlock's ankle was bruised and cuffed, gently fighting himself free of the anxiously clinging Omega to search the dead Alpha for keys. After hearing a miserable sound out of Sherlock's throat, John was happy to find a bundle of keys quickly, returning to his mate's side.  
Sherlock immediately flung himself over John again as soon as he was within reach and held him even closer, tighter. If he were strong enough right now, he might as well have hurt John. It limited his mobility and taking off the cuffs took longer this way, but that didn't matter now.  
Sherlock was free and he was safe.

“Can you walk?” he asked weakly as he tried to keep his mind on getting Sherlock to a hospital and not ravaging him then and there to claim him.  
Sherlock gave something akin to a nod, leaning heavily onto John as they shifted him from the bed. Blue lights began to flash over the walls in streaks.  
They managed about two steps before Sherlock collapsed into him, having underestimated just how sick his body was. John made it a short process and simply lifted him up, wondering where this strength had come from, considering he wasn't doing much better than his mate. Still, he effortlessly carried the way too thin Omega up the stairs, almost bumping into Greg as he set foot outside the building's door, onlookers having gathered on the stairs that lead to their flats, disturbed by the unusual visitors.  
  
“John, damn it, I told you to wait for us!” Greg hissed, eyes giving away his deeply settled worry. He scanned the skinny figure positively clinging to the man with the careless look, the unimpressed features and eyes that could kill. “How is he?”  
  
“Have you called up an ambulance?”  
  
“Yes, of course I have. John-”

 

“They are taking to long. Get him to a hospital now. We'll take your car.”

 

“Hold on, J-”  
  
“Now.”  
  
As if on cue, the droning sound of an ambulance approaching echoed through the settlement. The car had barely stopped, the men hardly gotten out when John was already on them, ordering them to get Sherlock on a stretcher immediately. Naturally, the Omega picked up a fight again as John tried to get him off his arms, but he silenced his pleas by giving him the most longing kisses of his life. He was quiet only temporarily, but distracted enough for John to make him let go.  
He listened to the medics list the things he already knew, stone-y expression fixed to Sherlock's face, crying with pain and despair.   
When they tried to sedate Sherlock, he started throwing a tantrum and John stepped in, catching both his arms and talking to him calmly as he held his wrists in one hand and held the other out to be handed the syringe. Whispering reassuring words and phrases to his mate, he was able to stab his muscle with the needle and injected the sedative. A short “I'm sorry” later, he watched Sherlock drift off under the influence of the strong medicine. He was hoping they weren't complete idiots and had given him a mixture not terribly harmful to pregnancies.   
He let the men buzz around his mate, holding his hand all the while until they were outside and inside and in an examination room and in a private room and until Greg asked him some questions about his gun, whether he'd been carrying it to work this whole time and honestly, John couldn't remember. He was just glad it had been there when he had needed it.

 

He noted nurses walking in and out, checking his vitals, his doctor walk in and out, muttering the diagnosis every time. Eventually, Sherlock budged. Jerked. He suddenly twitched and cramped like he was having a seizure, ripping his mouth open and crying out pure pain. John could feel it; some of it. It was devastating. He pushed the call-button and tried to calm Sherlock, but his mate didn't seem to hear anything over the intensity of his own scream. When his doctor and two nurses rushed in, Sherlock's efforts doubled and none of them could get close enough without having their faces bashed in. “You're scaring him!” John shouted, drawing their attention. The doctor gave him a shocked look until her eyes cleared with understanding and she handed him another syringe with a sedative. John did the same as before and Sherlock let him. Seconds later, the man was sleeping again, tubes plugged back in, nutrition being pumped into his system.  
  


“I'm sorry, had I known what you two are, I had let you do this immediately..”

 

“What? That we're what?”  
  
“Soul mates! I never actually met a couple like you, but Omegas in his condition tend to not let anyone but their soul mate touch them while awake. Had I known, I'd given this task to you right away... He's very badly traumatised and unable to sleep through his recovery undisturbed. He'll wake up many times for a few days just screaming from the emotional pain. It has sickened his body. You'll have to give him these to keep him as calm as possible. They are specially designed to fit pregnant Omegas.”

 

“So, you mean the pups are okay?!”  
  
“Yes, not good, but okay. You might have noticed he's gravely underweight for his stage and the pups have stopped in their development as a result. We're pumping him as full as we can without him throwing it all up again, but it'll take a couple of weeks until we can release him. That's when we'll know whether or not the embryos have taken to the belated nutrition and continue growing again.” The doctor explained and John just nodded. They were okay. They were _alive_. “Now, that said, it was a close call. Very close! A few more days and they'd starved-” she paused when John closed his eyes, trying to contain himself. “He will be fine. May walk out of here with a psychological trauma, but I can give you the number of an excellent therapist. Good luck with the syringes. I'll come back in tomorrow morning. Anything the matter, call up the nurses.”

 

For hours John sat beside Sherlock, holding his hand, unable to refrain from touching and kissing his long missed mate. Now and then his hand would travel down to his abdomen and feel his heart sink at how small the bulge was for being filled with four pups and approaching its five-months-mark. How little had that bastard offered him? Had Sherlock eaten all of it? For their children? Surely he would have just let himself starve to death otherwise, that maniac. No, that wasn't fair, Sherlock had endured a lot, John shouldn't be thinking of him like that.   
Just how much had he gone through? Judging by the state he was in, it must have been too much. Sherlock didn't break easily, John was sure, and right now, the Omega wasn't even in his right mind. Reduced to a begging, whimpering pile of skin and bones. How lonely must he have been. Without anything to occupy his mind and body. Anyone would go mad. What if he won't recover?, if he ends up empty, chased by fears?, if he becomes afraid of John?, changes forever?  
John would always love him, he was sure, but if Sherlock ended up rejecting him, unreachable, would their relationship survive that? Unlikely, since John would end up being the last the Omega wants to see. John wouldn't blame him, he had every right to be scared of Alphas, especially John, after what had happened. But how would they cope without each other? Even going back to just living together seemed impossible, not to mention their unborn pups and their destiny.  
John kissed his sweaty forehead and stabbed his upper arm with a needle.

 

 

“How is he?” Mycroft asked, his umbrella pointedly announcing his presence.  
  
“He's fighting. He won't give up.”  
  
“I imagined no less of him.” the tall man said, approaching the bed with his usual impassive look, though it was clearly tinged with worry. Sherlock would notice his creased suit. The way he finally stood by the feet of the bed, so high on his defences, but not to protect himself, to protect the twitching body of his vulnerable little brother. Like he was building an invisible wall around them. John was included.  
  
“Surely you know-”

 

“Naturally. But I must say that, as long as he heals, I do not care about the process. Not in this. However this is not the reason I have come.” How would it be. “The Alpha you managed to 'dispose of' has been identified. He is known to have worked with a certain man who has been in our interest for some time now; the mind in the crime, in a lot of them, actually. Apparently something was miss-communicated, since it isn't his style to go by such _savage_ ways.”   
  
“So, the real threat is still out there, walking free? How come he isn't long locked up yet?!”  
  
“We know about him, but as for now, our hands are bound. He cannot be found.”  
  
“Find him or I will.”  
  
Mycroft looked at him for a moment before turning and leaving them alone again. It wasn't long after that Sherlock's body was shaken by spasms and he curled in on himself, facing John as his soar throat released tight moans of pain. They were getting easier, calmer, less severe, but John suffered through every second with Sherlock.  
  
When Sherlock had reached the point of finally coming to his senses with the seizures, it only seemed all the more crippling to John because he knew Sherlock was mentally back, but had no control over what his body did yet. The only times John had ever felt that way was when he had presented and when he'd gotten shot. And he hadn't liked either of them. Feeling powerless in the body you have controlled for as long as you've known had scared him and maybe it was his alpha nature that made that experience even worse, but at least he usually had his mind and body working together, unlike Sherlock, who mainly made everything dependant on his brain.   
John hadn't given it much thought, but now that Sherlock was looking into his eyes again for just a second at a time while curling up in pain, he started wondering how Sherlock must have felt all along. Being more emotional and sociable since he presented seemed to have come naturally and without issues, but did Sherlock sometimes battle himself over allowing himself to be that way? Did he often feel helpless with his bodies desires and actions? The thought made John feel uncomfortably self-conscious. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't have given his consent all the time had he been entirely in control of his actions. He felt sick.  
  
  
“John..” the tight, dry sound of Sherlock's quiet voice said.

 

“I'm here. It's good. You're doing good. Just go back to sleep.” John replied, readying the umpteenth dosage of sedative.

 

Sherlock shook his head. “No.. No, I don't want to...”  
  
“That's the fifth time you've said that to me now.”  
  
“No, please.. I'm getting better.. Aside from... I'm mentally there again.. Please, don't...”

 

John regarded him with pity. “It'll help with the pain.”

 

“It'll numb my brain...”  
  
A small smirk.

 

“You look.. awful....” Sherlock said and John knew what he meant, though the pauses in his speech concerned him more as he was aware that was to suppress audible proof of his pain.

 

“I'm okay.”

  
“Liar..”

 

“Just need some sleep. Though it is nice to talk to you again; missed your rudeness.”

 

And that smirk, yes, exactly. “The pups..?”

 

“Fine, apparently. Luckily..”  
  
“How long...?”  
  


“Nine inches.”  
  
“Nine point one four, but that's not what I meant...”

 

John smirked, then fell silent. Sherlock wouldn't like to hear the answer.

 

“That long, was it...”

 

“All that matters now is that you're back and safe. Everything else we can discuss once you're recovered and home.”  
  
“Don't underestimate me...”  
  
“How could I ever..”

 

Sherlock smiled at him cheekily and John gave one of his small smiles as well. The Omega tugged at his hand a little, so he leant down and kissed him, feeling the slight tremble against his lips and the tense breathing against his cheek. Most importantly, though, he felt glad. So, so glad.  
“When are we going home?”  
  
“It'll be a few more days at least, Sherlock. You've been gone for a month, they need to get your vitals back up.”  
  
“You can do that at home..”  
  
“Not like this.. Your stomach would reject most food right now until it is used to nutrition sufficiently again. Then they have to take small steps, beginning with water and soup.”  
  
“At least get some sleep then..”

 

“I will.”  
  
“Stop lying, John.. Come on...” with that, Sherlock threw back the blanket and budged over a little bit so John could climb in.   
  
“No, I can't Sherlock. I can't do that-”

 

“You're my mate and I need you... now, get in here, it's getting cold..”

 

Without further debate, John took off his shoes and climbed in beside Sherlock, who frowned in disapproval at feeling his spine under his hand as John carefully draped himself over him a little. John just felt his insides scream in bliss at being so close to his mate again and leaving scent on him this way again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, uh, tumblr!   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kinkmerighthererightnow
> 
> Prompts for everything of anything there!


	18. Hospitalised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's stay in hospital turns out to be shorter than John anticipated. Then again, Sherlock was always a man of wonders to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause. Sorry for some probably weird formatting. Sorry for any mistakes.   
> Tbh, I haven't been doing too good. That helped me write the chapter, though. Somewhat.  
> Hope you like some feels.  
> They'll get better eventually. Probably.

Being inside his mind palace was usually a good experience, something appeasing his brain by occupying it.

Being trapped inside it while doors slammed open and shut over and over again without his control was not that pleasant. For once, Sherlock had felt an anxious longing to escape his second home. Everything in it was screaming at him, even John. After blissful cuddling he began screaming his name and he couldn't say if it was concern or anger booming out of the mental image of his mate, but it scared him.  
  
Becoming _conscious_ was both relieving and confusing. Relieving, because John wasn't actually screaming at him, just talking to him calmly.  
Confusing because the sedatives he was on detached his mind so far from his body, he felt like a third presence in the room.  
The numb physical and severe 'emotional' pain didn't bother him enough to wish for another shot of a dreamland that bared only nightmares. He hadn't even remembered having asked John not to sedate him again before.  
  
This time, though, sleep was more peaceful. He'd woken with a tremor shaking his body, but it disappeared after some time and John was sleeping in his arms. He was so glad John was sleeping because for all the instinctive strength the Alpha had built up to aid him, he had actually looked ready to die on his feet. Sherlock could tell he'd slept and eaten even less than himself, which worried him. Never had he seen John go more than 36 hours without either and the soldier was very hard to break to such a point.   
Then again, Sherlock had felt miserable himself without really knowing why. All this talk about the mythical soul mate business – was this what it really was? Being tortured by your love for someone? He knew he'd felt devastatingly lonely and ached for John's presence in way human words couldn't explain, but he'd also felt those pains intensify irregularly. Was that their bond playing ping-pong with their misery? How useless – that would make them leap through a viscous circle, spiralling into misery until Sherlock passed out again.  
Even now he could feel that inexplicable ache and sadness.  
John's left hand shook between their bodies. Sherlock felt ill.

 

 

When he woke again, he had forgotten he'd even fallen asleep. But most importantly, John wasn't there. Sherlock knew it was stupid and irrational, but immediately fear rose fast and strong inside his chest, his upper body shooting into a vertical position, the soar muscles a dull pain as his eyes widened and he clutched his chest, mouth agape to manage the sudden need for quicker exchange of fresh and used air. He sat there for a minute, just staring at his blanket-covered legs as he wondered why he was reacting this way. It wasn't doing him any good, was it.  
When his lungs allowed for slower breaths again, Sherlock tried gathering his wits again.  
  
A knock on the door yanked at his mind. “Hey, love, you alright?” John asked, worry clear on his face as he approached the bed.  
  
“Fine.” Sherlock lied. John didn't have to know. He had enough problems of his own. “Just woke up and was looking for you.”  
  


“Sorry, didn't expect to take so long.” John replied with an apologetic smile as he set down a bag on a chair standing by the nearby table. Sherlock deduced from the weight and shaping of it, that there were clothes inside. “Mrs. Hudson asked after you and wanted to come around, but I've told everyone that they rather wait till you're back home.” the doctor informed, seating himself in the visitor's chair.

 

“Thank you.” Sherlock replied. Not that he wasn't feeling well enough for other visitors, but he could barely tolerate the staff in his room beside his mate at the moment. John knew that was the real issue. John always knew. “Your hand.” he gently instructed and John held out the limb for Sherlock to take. He brought it up to his face, rubbed his cheek on it to overwrite the foreign scents of the tube, then lifted his gown and lead the _skinny_ hand to lay against his belly.  
  
It took John a moment to realise what Sherlock was showing him, but when it cleared up, he finally noticed Sherlock's hollow cheeks having filled out again a bit, his fingers still lean, but not bony anymore, and, of course, his belly swollen several more inches.   
The Alpha looked at him in awe and somehow John's hand on his abdomen made something click inside his head – they were alive. He and the pups. Alive and in John's loving hands. The pups were alive and growing. They were growing again.

Despite himself, Sherlock felt his eyes tear up, relieved by the knowledge that his family was well, that he hadn't lost their children.

John reached out with his free hand, palming his cheek and wiping at the tear that forced its way out.

He let John know. Of the fear he'd felt for their pups. The day he realised he was becoming thinner again and that his abdomen hadn't changed for a while. He'd eaten everything presented to him, but a meal a day simply wasn't enough for an Omega growing four pups.  
John took and squeezed his hand before leaning down, planting a kiss on Sherlock's belly before moving to kiss his forehead.   
Sherlock tried to make John see he didn't blame him, but the Alpha seemed adamant. Maybe he needed some time.   
_He_ surely needed it. There were memories haunting him, of an Alpha forcing himself onto his weakened body. It made him feel cold and empty. But then he saw John and opened the passageway of their bond again and John would fill him with love and _home_.

 

 

Sherlock was still on medication to help him sleep through most of his nightmares, so he often woke drowsy after sleeping through a night.   
“Yellow.” he mumbled, smacking his lips lazily, knowing John was already up and listening.  
  
“Sorry?” John asked in confusion. It was such a sweet sound. A sound that made everything seem in place.  
  
“ ' Nursery.. I want it yellow. With some asymmetrically placed lime green, vertical stripes; two per wall, leaving one completely yellow. Lemon. It ages rather nicely.” Sherlock continued to mumble, waving a hand as if indicating the positions in the intended room whilst sitting himself up.  
  
“Sounds good. Precise.”  
  
“Well, I know what I want.” Sherlock replied, dragging his words a little, sounding uncharacteristically cheery. “And wooden furniture. Ash. With some colourful highlights to make it warm.”  
  
“Exploring your inner interior designer?” John chuckled, making mental notes.  
  
“John,” Sherlock began more seriously, “we're going to have babies. Four babies. I want everything to be ready before it's time and I want it done before I'm too immobile for the tasks. I'm in my fifth month of pregnancy and you heard Dr. Field – I'm only going to grow faster from now on, which means I'll qualify as my own household in about a month and a half. We need to get this done.”

 

“I know, love. I understand.” the Alpha replied warmly, taking his hand with a fond smile. “Well, go on, then.” he asked and continued to listen to Sherlock's ideas.

 

 

“Sherlock, what are you- no, no, no! Back to bed!” John ordered, catching his wobbly steps before he could fall.  
  
“John, no. They are going to release me next week and I need to be able to walk!” Sherlock protested, trying to push against John as the man lead him back to his bed, but having to accept his muscles weren't ready yet.

 

“They said they will _maybe_ release you next week.”  
  
“All the more reason to start practising! My legs have gotten weak with the lack of walking and conversion of muscle to fat; which I burned immediately, at that. I'm not going to be pushed out of here in a wheelchair! I need to work on this.” The Omega argued and John held his hands tightly.  
  
“Yeah, okay. If you say you're ready, we'll practise. But you need support, Sherlock. If you fall, in your condition, you might hurt the pups. Let me help you and we'll take it one step at a time. Literally.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but agreed. He hated to admit his weakness, but his pups meant everything to him and he'd go through hell to protect them. Even if it meant for him to feel undignified.  
He leaned heavily on John's shoulder, not able to put a lot of weight on his legs yet, but John made it seem like it was nothing, like Sherlock was doing it all on his own.

How could he do that? The Omega could clearly feel the bones on John's shoulders, his shirts were hanging off his body, looser than ever.   
Walking the distance to the door and back, Sherlock almost collapsed back into bed, had he not been careful with their pups and John guided him slowly.  
  
  


  
“When's the last time you've eaten?” Sherlock asked monotonously.  
  
John tried feigning ignorance, but as ever, he was a bad liar. “What?” he chuckled, pretending not to know what Sherlock was talking about.  
  
“You. When have you last eaten more than a slice of bread.” the Omega demanded and John tried to keep up his act.  
  
“I eat. I don't know what you're talking about-”  
  


“Oh, cut the crap, John! You love eating and you're thin as a rake! Your metabolism isn't that good. Clearly, you're not eating healthily! For a doctor and someone always nagging me about it, that is a pretty hypocritical way to go about this and even lying to me, really! For the last one and a half weeks I've been working my way from tubes up to light meals and you're not even trying to get _something_ in you?! I don't know why Dr. Brown doesn't comment on that, since, frankly, he comments everything, but now I will. If you don't start eating normally again, John, I'll have Mycroft have you bound to a bed like me until your vitals go up again!”  
  
John stared at Sherlock for a moment, perplexed by the sudden outburst. When he'd caught up, he blinked rapidly, lowering his gaze to the sterile floor.

  
“John, you are dying. For all the joy you express for me being alive and getting well, you are taking poor care of yourself.”

 

The Alpha shifted uncomfortably at the harsh words that sounded like accusations to his ears. “Of course, you'd notice. Recovering from so much crap and you still notice that I'm unwell – I should be flattered..”  
  
“So, what the hell are you doing, John?! Deliberately starving yourself?! Trying to punish yourself for something that's not your-”  
  
“I _am_ trying, Sherlock!” John retorted, head snapping up then ducking it again, palming his forehead as the image of Sherlock disappointed and alarmed face burned it's way into his mind. He didn't mean to sound so harsh.

“Everything I try to force down, I throw back up instantly.. A small breakfast, I can take. Everything beyond that only makes it worse..” John said in resignation, sitting down by Sherlock's side as the Omega had just taken his pills for the night. “I'm sorry. I know I'm not a good support at the moment.”  
  
Sherlock noted the tremor in John's hand and deduced that he'd sat down only because his leg had begun hurting again.  
“When I wake up from a nap and you're not here, you haven't gone for a quick run by Baker Street, have you? You just go there to collect an alibi.”  
John said nothing, just tucked in his chin further.  
“You're seeing your therapist again.”  
  
“Sorry.” John breathed, pausing to fight back a sudden rush of tears, so unlikely on the man's face. “Just this...” he managed as nothing more than an exhale, gathering his focus to try and speak more clearly. Failing. “It's just all this.... I hadn't slept in a month, Sherlock.. I was so worried.. And when I found you, when you were back... I just noticed something wasn't right.. with me.. I'm working on it, I swear I am.. The eating, too! I just... I need some more time..”  
  
“John, you don't have more time. It's very impressive you could go this long without eating or sleeping properly and I am more than overwhelmed by how strong you still are, guiding me around with so much of my weight still leaning on you – and I bet, at the moment, I weigh more than you. But you're pushing your limits, John, you're this close to collapsing! Hand me my phone.”

 

John, despite being aware that phones weren't allowed inside the hospital, gave it to Sherlock, knowing he'd get it sooner or later anyway. The man tapped away at it for a second, then invited John under the blanket. As their ritual went, John followed the invitation and tucked himself in beside Sherlock, scenting each other a little before falling asleep.  
  
  
When Sherlock woke, he could faintly make out the frame of his brother's form by the windows.   
  
“I delivered as requested. The hospital staff will not ask questions. But, if I may, brother dear, this might not be the method that will help your mate.”  
  
“He sleeps around me; he will eat.” Sherlock slurred back at him, stretching his body, placing his hands on his distended middle and rubbing it lovingly through his gown. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Get lost now. You'll only unsettle him with your _scent_.”

 

“Yes, what a terrible odour suppressants can produce.” Mycroft said with clear sarcasm tingeing his voice.  
  
As soon as Mycroft left, Sherlock let his hands roam over John's back, pinching the nape of his neck lightly. It was a shame to pull him out of his sleep, especially since he so rarely got to see his resting face. For once in the past month and a half, Sherlock could see John and see him peaceful, the creases on his forehead smooth, his hand still and his lips relaxed. Looking at his mate like this did something to calm his own heart and mind, filled him with such a warmth, it hurt him to know he couldn't get any closer to John. He made his mind rest in silence. Sherlock always wanted that, but never had it felt so safe, so right. “I love you. _We_ love you.” and before he realised what he was doing, the sentiment continued pouring out of him. “We have to be strong now, John. For them.”

 

“You _are_ strong.” John whispered back, stirring.  
  
“How much did you hear?” Sherlock asked, dread painting his cheeks pink.

 

John simply smirk and stretched his limbs, resting his hand on where their pups were sleeping and his smirk transformed into a contented smile. “Your breakfast here yet?”  
  
Sherlock groaned as he lifted his head to look at the clock. “Half an hour. Doctor should be here soon, though. Did you speak to Dr. Field yet?”  
  
“Hm.” John confirmed, yawning heartily before burying his nose in Sherlock's chest. “We have an appointment in two weeks.”  
  
A knock on the door made John release a sigh and he got up to let the doctor in. “Ah, good morning Dr. Watson. Good morning Mr. Holmes. How are you feeling?” the lean man asked, eyeing the food in the room but saying nothing.  
  
“Ready to leave.” Sherlock answered, voice an impassive, dark rumble.   
  
John smirked a little and went to sit down by his mate's side. The doctor chuckled kindly. “I am afraid we aren't that far yet. But I will say you are making extraordinary progress! I've seen a couple of Omegas in similar injuries and states, but only very few have showed natural healing processes _this_ quick. A nurse will take another blood sample this afternoon to make sure it's not just superficial, but I'm confident that everything has healed up just fine. Now, as soon as we're sure you're safe on your legs again, you can be released. Judging by the guidance your mate has offered you so far, I'd estimate next week will be the definite timespan. You've been fighting really well, Mr. Holmes.”  
  
“I'd never have gotten here if not for John. And I'd never have healed like this without him either.” Sherlock said to his blanket, looking up at John after. His mate was looking back as neutrally as he could manage, but something in his eyes displeased Sherlock greatly still.  
  
“Of course. Omega, Beta, Alpha; the presence of once bonded mate always makes one's strength increase, no matter the sex. The psyche often plays just as much a role in any healing process as the body itself does. But that leaves my personal profession and is a matter for a psychologist or psychiatrist. Your breakfast will be here shortly. We'll see tomorrow what your vitals say. Have a nice day.”

 

Breakfast was relatively silent between the two of them. When seeing John not touching a bit of what Mycroft had ensured for him,Sherlock had promised John to eat the equivalent of what he ate by scale. Since Sherlock's hospital meals were rather small, that meant he'd take a bite for every full slice of bread, spoonful of beans or fruit John took. The Alpha, of course, had been against that, but as he saw Sherlock wasn't even taking a sip of his tea, he surrendered and started forcing an apple down. Sherlock in turn bit off his bread, chewing slowly, cautious not to upset his recovering stomach.  
An hour later, John had three quarters of his breakfast down. The entire meal was about as much as he'd usually consumed in the mornings. Now he was way past his limits. He brought a hand up to his mouth as he felt like retching, then dashed for the toilet belonging to the private room and threw up.   
Much like John, Sherlock felt bad, guilty even. He knew what it was like to have such a neglected stomach and forcing all this food upon his mate after having taken more than a week to even go beyond soup, he felt stupid and selfish. He had forced John to throw up. He didn't know what was bothering John so greatly or why this situation was even a thing for him, but he'd been insensitive enough to possibly make it even worse.  
By the time John exited the small room, head hanging low, Sherlock had eaten his own breakfast and some of John's remaining. The Alpha looked up with a look akin to apology, trying to hide as much of his misery as he could, and, upon seeing the cleared plate on Sherlock's table and the missing bits of his own load, he didn't, as Sherlock had anticipated, look relieved, but rather close to tears, pinching his eyebrows together and tilting his head away.  
Sherlock shuffled from the bed to his feet and slowly wobbled over to John, the quickly increasing weight of their growing pups putting an extra challenge to his progress daily, but he managed. His legs were building up their muscles again and he needed little aid to move now. The wall sufficed. He stopped in front of John, raised his head by cupping his face and looked him deep in the eyes.

“I want a rocking chair in the nursery. Made of a dark wood. One that looks ancient.” he said, his eyes and voice soft.  
  
John gave a weak chuckle and leaned his head against Sherlock's chest. The Omega embraced him and John gladly encased him in his arms as well.  
  
Half an hour and Sherlock was napping. John had guided him back to bed, holding his hand for support, but letting him do the rest for himself. They hadn't talked, just felt each other, until Sherlock had fallen asleep. He'd often been tired before, but it seemed the stress still sat deep in his bones and he did little else but eat, sleep and build up his muscles by walking or with mild exercises John did with him.  
As the Omega slept, John had a word with one of the nurses that came by to check on his mate and, with permission, made the remaining fruit into a little snack for Sherlock (and maybe himself) to have between lunch and dinner. All the while, he was thinking about what Sherlock had done, or rather tried to do, that morning. How he'd attempted to help John.  
Of course, Sherlock wasn't great in understanding people, worse than himself, so he probably had gathered that the Alpha's issues weren't strictly physical ones, but he'd also not understood what the precise nature of his problems was.

To be fair, neither did John. Not really. He still didn't comprehend how his psyche could affect his body in such ways, much less his subconscious. But he knew it was in relation to Sherlock himself. When Sherlock was happy, John fell asleep easier or managed another slice of bread. But whenever the Omega looked at him, there was a wave of grief and sorrow coursing through both of them and he felt ready to spit just thinking about food. Looking at the clock, he noted he had two hours before Sherlock had to be woken for lunch, so he grabbed the bag with their old clothes and set off to return in time with a new set, asking the nurse about taking Sherlock out into the hospital's garden and, with her consent, re-entered the room, storing their stuff before gently waking his mate with a kiss to the forehead and some light shaking just as lunch was brought to him.


	19. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets released from the hospital. That doesn't mean everything just gets better.

“Is this really necessary, John.” Sherlock asked, walking slowly by his mate's side.  
  
John shrugged. “I thought you might appreciate the bit more exercise before the release.” he replied to the not-question. His grip on Sherlock's hand a stabilising contact for the recovering Omega.  
  
“Exactly. I'm being released tomorrow, so why take another stroll out here? To say goodbye to the birds?”  
  
John sighed happily. Saying he'd missed his mate wouldn't even scratch the depth of this feeling. He said nothing, just revelled in the solid feeling of his mate's fleshier hand in his, seeing Sherlock's belly lead the man's way by now, size coming up to where it's supposed to be at this stage with four pups. It satisfied a deep alpha urge inside him, seeing his bonded healthy and growing with his offspring. Just Sherlock's steps were still a little wonky – the rapidly gained weight didn't help his developed muscles carry him steadily.  
But John was there, ready to step into action should anything happen. It was him back inside the hospital and it was him out here. He was aware there were still a couple of Mycroft's men staying close, keeping an eye out for them, but outside Sherlock depended on him more. Outside they'd take longer to come up to them in trouble than inside. It soothed him a bit.  
Nevertheless, Mycroft's words remained present in the back of his mind. Danger was still lingering possibly anywhere.  
  
  


“I must say, we're glad to see you go, Mr. Holmes. For various reasons.” said one of the nurses, giving him a cheeky smile. She was one of the few hospital staff who didn't take his snide remarks as offence. She was also the only one he had accepted as assistance when John hadn't been there. When he thought Sherlock was sleeping soundly, waking only with John's aid.  
  
“I will not be frequenting this location, that I can guarantee.” Sherlock replied coldly, a sheen of fondness in his eyes, invisible to strangers.  
  
“Do you need any help packing?”  
  
“No, we'll be fine, thanks.” John answered with a kind smile.  
  
“Very well. Please make sure to inform reception and urgently see your omega physician.” she insisted. “Have a nice day!”  
  
“You too.” John turned back to their clothing, making neat stacks inside their bag.  
  
Sherlock was watching him, trying to figure out something that was really bothering him ever since he had noticed John being absent when he slept. He'd felt it very early on, just his dreams changing abruptly, the scenery getting dark cold and lonely. John was cutting him off in those times. Maybe he didn't want Sherlock knowing what he talked about to his therapist? But then, how many appointments has he had? More than one a week was more than unusual. John was keeping a secret from him, which worried him. He only worked that out now, which, frankly, alarmed him. Could that explain the constant guilt in John's eyes? Had he deduced wrong?  
No. No, that wasn't a train of thought he even _wanted_ to go down. It wasn't fair, making assumptions like this. It was probably nothing. A man needed his space. Sherlock could understand that. He wouldn't want to be linked to and think about his mate in hospital at all hours of the day either – what a bleak world that would be.  
No, he understood. He sympathised even. John should feel good and should be able to at all times. His happiness shouldn't be defined by Sherlock's moods or condition and vice versa.  
John held his hand on the way to their taxi and on the ride back home, which passed by in silence. He carried their bag up the stair after Sherlock, his mate growing a little breathless by the time he reached the last few steps, one hand coming to his back, the other to his belly as he shuffled further into the flat.  
  
“You good?” John asked, setting the bag down, going over to place his hands over Sherlock's own, moving the one on his belly softly in slow circles.  
Sherlock merely hummed in confirmation, looking at John loving and longingly, glad they were finally back to their known privacy. John's expression let on much the same and Sherlock leaned down to kiss him passionately. He brought a hand up to cup the Alpha's face to deepen the kiss before John broke it off, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I'm gonna make some tea and prepare a bath, alright?”  
  
“Right.” Sherlock sighed, a little disappointed, but honestly, what had he expected? To come home and just have sex for the rest of the day? Well, yes. He had, a little. But that had been foolish. He should know better than to expect John to just jump him after such a scare. John was much too caring.  
He grabbed his violin case and lowered himself into his armchair with a small huff. Weighing the case in his hands for a moment, Sherlock thought about the talks John would want to have now that he was out of the hospital. But he'd likely wait until after his appointment with the omega specialist – all uncertainties out of the way.  
  
A moment later John sat down in the other chair and just watched Sherlock for a second. “Something's bothering you.” he suddenly said matter-of-factly.

 

Sherlock looked back at him blankly, raising a brow. “There's always something bothering me, John. In fact, I think, it's something most people can say of themselves. Take yourself as an example, I can tell there is at least ten things bothering you at the moment and they are all connected to me more or less directly.”  
  
The corners of John's mouth pulled outwards in his usual demeanour of unamused smiling. Something that had defence and challenge in it and just the tiniest bit of daring. “So, is there something I might be able to help you with?” he asked and Sherlock was sure it was at least partly to distract from his own statement.

  
After a bit of glaring at each other, averted his eyes to put down the violin case to lean against his chair. “Very likely since it concerns you, but I don't think I will address it just now.”

 

“Because I won't talk to you about what bothers me?” John asked, though it didn't much sound like a question.

 

Sherlock inhaled deeply and pulled his mouth into a downward bow as if pondering that question very hard. He wasn't really, of course. “No,actually I'd prefer you not relying on me with your worries and emotional comfort-seeking, but I suppose that's unavoidable due to our bond anyway. No, I won't consult your opinion simply because I don't think it would be too wise a decision. I'm a Consulting Detective after all, I'll solve the mystery myself.” he replied, a smug and arrogant expression in his eyes.

 

John blinked at him for a moment, wondering when Sherlock had just raised all his internal walls against him again. It had been ages since he'd last acted _this_ cold towards him. “Okay.” he said, then nodded and awkwardly got up to fetch their cups and pour the boiling water into them. Handing Sherlock his mug with a murmured “I'll leave you to yourself then”, setting his own down on the small table, he took their bag and carried it into their bedroom, beginning to sort clean and dirty clothes and putting them away appropriately. He supposed it were the hormones. Other pregnant Omegas might get overly emotional, maybe Sherlock just got overly detached. He shouldn't be taking it harshly. Actually, he should have expected it. He didn't know why it affected him so badly, but something seemed to fall into place inside his mind, a gap that finally closed. He let himself fall back to sit on the bed, his head suddenly empty and full to the brim at the same time.  
  
He only noticed Sherlock when he mage the mattress dip low beside him. His head snapped over to look at his mate and Sherlock's look was still distant, but warmer. “I turned off the tab, then.” he said, falling quiet for a minute before starting again. “I don't like you very much at the moment, John. You're not my mate. It seems we're back to when we first met. Like you're trying, but you're not being as open with me as you want me to be with you. What am I to you? The strange, intriguing man, who knew more about you than you would like after knowing you only a couple of seconds? Am I that weird, breezy, drug-addicted man you couldn't really trust?”

 

“You forget how quickly I fell for that man. Took me less than a day.”

 

“That was different. _We_ were different. And you're turning back into that.”  
  
John's jaw clenched at that and he looked away. “I thought you didn't want to talk about these kinds of things.”  
  
“I don't.” Sherlock simply replied. “But I have done the past four months and it does seem necessary, regarding our situation.”

 

“Why _are_ you suddenly like this?”

 

“Because I don't know if trust you right now. You're keeping secrets.”  
  
“Secrets?” John asked with genuine confusion. “You don't expect me to tell you about my sessions with my psychologist, do you?”  
  
“You can't possibly go to therapy up to seven days a week.”  
  
John's posture suddenly fell, all fight drained out of him. “You want to know my secret? I was initially planning to show you when I'm finished, but if it bothers you this much..” he said, standing, grabbing Sherlock's hand and gently pulling him along behind him.  
  
He led him upstairs and into the nursery, where Sherlock came to a sudden stop. “This? You... started furnishing the nursery?”

 

“When you started telling me your plans, I thought I might as well look into it, yeah. I knew you wouldn't have much time left after your release from the hospital before you'd start having problems. You won't be able to help with these things and my time will be limited by that as well, so... I figured I'd make sure we'll be done in time. I know it isn't too much yet, but I've got almost all the stuff stored for now, just some little things missing like curtains a-”  
  
“Would you shut up for a second.” Sherlock asked him and John fell silent immediately, looking at his mate for some sort of feedback. When Sherlock did finally turn to him, there was something akin to an apology engraved in his features. “I didn't-”  
  
“It doesn't matter.” John said shaking his head. “With everything that's been happening, I can't blame you for thinking every secret must be hiding something bad. I should have told you, really..”  
  
At that, Sherlock simply pulled him close and hugged him in unspoken apology and gratitude. “It's beautiful, John.”  
  
“Good because I'm not changing it!” John chuckled back into his chest. For a while they just stood there, inhaling each other's scent, their hands covering the small protruding bump on Sherlock's front. “I'm so glad you're back.” John whispered after a moment, his voice carefully calm, but Sherlock knew. They always knew.

 

“I'd like that bath now, my legs hurt.” Sherlock replied a minute later, kissing the top of John's head.  
  
John reluctantly stepped back a little, smiling at him. “Yeah, alright. Come on.” John accompanied him down the stairs again, picking up Sherlock's cup and carrying it into the bathroom after him. He set it down on the sink and waited for Sherlock to undress, standing by as the Omega started climbing into the tub. He could see it now, like on the stairs – Sherlock's legs were shaking with the exertion. He stood a bit closer to ensure he'd catch his mate if he couldn't make it. Fortunately, his help wasn't needed that time and he turned and handed Sherlock his mug. “Hang on, I'll get the tray, maybe it's wide enough.”  
Retrieving their tray from the kitchen, John experimentally placed its edges on the sides of the tub and it held. Sherlock put down his tea on it with a grateful grunt. John lovingly patted his hair before getting up. “Call me if you need me, yeah?”

 

“John.” the low rumble sounded and John turned back around to look at his mate's blank face as he sank into the hot water with his eyes closed. “I know I'm being very emotional and changeable. I suppose my hormones are spiralling because of.. “

 

“That's alright. Don't worry about it.” he replied, then left. He went back into the living room, where he picked up his abandoned tea and sank down into his chair. He pondered Sherlock's words. The Omega had been warmer ever since his heat and while he'd always kind of kept his old self, he had been a lot more open and emotional with John. Not that he minded, but it was a little heartbreaking to still see him uncomfortable with his new behaviour. Since he got back, Sherlock had been 'worse', yes, but John hadn't expected an outbreak like _that_. He knew it was rubbish, but Sherlock thinking John did god-knows-what behind his back kind of made him feel betrayed in a sense that made him feel sick. Sick for thinking Sherlock could ever see the possibility John would betray him. On the other hand, he really couldn't blame him. Sherlock never had much grounds to trust anyone and recent events hadn't exactly done much to help in that matter.  
Well, at least they were home now, they'd never stayed in a fight for long and he was sure once they had acclimatised back to their life together, mistrust and other ill-natured feelings between them would fall dead after a while. Considering their bond was strong enough for Sherlock to reach out and for John to locate him through it, it would also be strong enough to erase all the misunderstandings there may be or might come up still. They just needed to settle and regain their strength, or in John's case, a couple pounds.  
He looked down at his hands, watch them tremble the little bit they had done constantly for all the time he remembered since Sherlock's disappearance. That wasn't much, during that time he'd mostly run on autopilot and his conscious had kept out of most of it, but what he remembered had a lot of uncontrollable trembling in it; not out of fear, but cold. He'd dealt with enough anorexic patients to hate being able to see it on himself every time he looked at himself. The protruding bones were a telltale sign, of course, but what was an even more serious aspect was the fact he'd grown lanugo hair, the downy hair the human body grew to protect itself against the cold when the amount body fat was too low to do so. It was an old natural mechanism, that had little function anymore, but it showed clearly when a person was sickly thin. It annoyed John to see that on his own meagre arms. Maybe he should get himself tubed up now that he needn't worry about Sherlock as much any longer. He didn't know how much longer his body would be able to keep this up. He'd never been this thin in his life and up to this point, it had been his worry for Sherlock that pumped him up with enough adrenalin to keep him going on low fuel, but he could physically feel himself sagging away. He knew his condition was critical. As a doctor, he knew. As a soldier, he was disappointed in himself.  
On the other hand, if he sought out help now, he would have to leave Sherlock to himself; at this stage, an advice he wouldn't give. They wouldn't be able to finish the nursery, to buy necessary goods, let alone have Sherlock take care of himself. Someone could help, sure, but considering how Sherlock's condition had affected John, the Alpha didn't want to reverse the situation. He'd have to get himself up on his own somehow. If only he could keep the food down, that would help considerably.  
John took a deep, sobering breath and looked at his watch, it had been half an hour; Sherlock never bathed that long.  
He got up and walked to the bathroom door. Knocking cautiously, he asked after his mate through the door. “Sherlock? Are you alright in there?”

There was no answer. Concerned, John opened the door and looked inside, his frown dissolving into an endeared smile as he realised Sherlock had fallen asleep. He knelt next to the tub and combed his hand through Sherlock's dry locks until the man stirred. “Hey, feeling better?” he asked in a soft whisper.  
  
Sherlock groggily raised his head from the side of the tub, a thick, red stripe along his cheek marking his error. “Mh. Much more relaxed, yes.” he replied in a barely intelligible murmur.  


John snorted out a chuckle. “I can see _that_.” He resumed his petting of Sherlock's dark curls. “Need a hand?”  
  
“Nah, my hair's fine, I'll wash it tomorrow. Just help me out.”  


John complied, helping Sherlock up and out of the tub, mindful of the tray with the half-empty cup of tea on it, drying his tired mate off, ignoring his protests of how 'undignified' it was, and walking him to the bedroom to lower him onto the bed, where he drew the blanket over him. He kissed his forehead and caressed his small belly before leaving the man to his soft slumber and went to pull the plug for the tub, but, spending a moment with consideration, John instead undressed and stepped into the still warm water himself. A minute later, he pulled the plug and let some of the water drain out, before putting the plug back and refilling the lost amount with completely hot water, groaning as his skin began to burn, his muscles beginning to relax.

He blinked his eyes open at the dull knocks on the door connecting bathroom to bedroom. “Sorry, I just wanted to take a short bath, did you need something?” John asked.  
  
Sherlock lowered his aching arm from where he'd stretched it out far enough to reach the door. “'Short bath'. Funny. You've been in there for almost an hour, John. I've been knocking for one minute straight. I was about to get up and come in to check on you.”  


John suddenly sat up, causing some of the water to splash over the edge of the tub. “Shit, really?! Sorry, I meant to prepare lunch!” John said quickly, hurrying to get out of the water that had turned a little cool.  


Don't worry, John. We've got time.” Sherlock said lazily, knowing the water would not be too pleasant anymore anyway, but not meaning for the Alpha to add to his worries. John entered the bedroom, towel wrapped around him loosely. Sherlock eyed what he could see, the arms and legs that looked like seemingly barely more than sticks, the prominent collarbone, shoulder blades and chest revealing his ribs as John retrieved some clothes to take them back into the bathroom, hiding from his Omega's eyes. He knew Sherlock didn't like to see him like that, so he tried to show as little as possible. He let him walk past him, staring up at the ceiling, hands wandering to his belly and their growing pups, rubbing it idly. Even without the bump Sherlock was bigger than he'd ever been before; the hospital staff had made sure he reached the appropriate weight for his stage before releasing him. He looked at his fleshier hands. He was even heavier than he'd ever seen John, which wasn't that big a statement, since John had never really been any more than slightly chubby, his broad physique often making him look bigger than he really was, especially when standing next to Sherlock's old self. He wondered if John had felt like this back then, if it was the same worry that had made him urge Sherlock to eat at least three times a week when on a case. Though in all the time they'd known each other, Sherlock hadn't been as thin as John was now. He wished he knew how to go about it. John would never agree to going into hospital now, or frankly, ever. John was sensible, but he was even more proud, trying to care for himself rather than accept help, not unlike Sherlock himself.  
They worried more about each other than about themselves. He wondered if that was a blessing or a curse.  
He'd just have to keep trying, nudging John to eat a little more now and then, coaxing him to finally regain his weight. It would take a while, Sherlock knew how difficult it could be to gain weight, though his greatest problem was his metabolism, not his hunger, but the only important thing here was to get John to a safe weight.

Sherlock got up slowly, cupping his small belly as he lifted himself up, straightening his back. Looking down his naked body, he regarded what their pups were doing to him. It was still small, but he could only see half of his feet anymore and it was only a matter of time until the growth spurts would finally set in.  
He retrieved some pants and got his dressing gown, and emerged from the bedroom, finding John cutting some bell pepper in the kitchen.  
  
“You could have stayed in bed. It'll take a while till I'm done here.” John offered without looking at him. His features were very relaxed, though, so at least he didn't seem to feel bad anymore.  


Sherlock stepped right behind him, drawing his arms around John's waist. It wasn't as narrow as his own, but that's just how John was built. It didn't make him any less thin. “I could help you, you know.” Sherlock murmured into his hair.  


“You want to help me cook?” John asked disbelievingly, his face staying just as straight as Sherlock's. Still not good, then.  
  
  
“God, no, just saying I could.” Sherlock replied, but not letting go. He leaned down and pressed his nose against John's neck, right above his scent gland and inhaled. “I really appreciate what you did upstairs, you know. That was a really sweet gesture.” he admitted, pressing his lips against the spot and John let his head fall to the other side a little.  
  
He let go of the knife and reached behind himself, carding his hand into Sherlock's soft curls. He turned his head around and Sherlock pulled away a little, looking back at John for a long minute. The kiss that followed was short and apologetic as well as grateful, from both sides. When it ended, they lingered, breathing each other in. John gave him another quick peck that felt like a little promise before turning back to his vegetables.  
  
  
  
  
As they sat together and ate, Sherlock did notice John mostly smiling back at him in a false manner, seemingly to support his steady eating. Sherlock looked back at him and momentarily cast his eyes down at John's own plate, smaller size, barely touched. At some point John couldn't bear looking at him much longer, so he let his eyes fall down to his plate himself, trying to hold back the guilty expression. He pierced a piece of chicken with his fork, but the force with which he did it was a little sinister and definitely angry. “Stop looking at me like that.” he said in a dangerously low whisper.  
  
“Why?”  


“Because it doesn't help.”  
  
  
“You're eating.” Sherlock noted matter-of-factly.  


“The more angry I am, the more prone I am to throw up.” John spat back.  
  
“I just-”  


“I know you worry about me, Sherlock, but putting me under pressure won't help.”  


“Tell me what I can do.”  
  
  
“There's nothing to be done.”  


“So you're just accepting your fate and diving head first in-”  


“Shut up.” John ordered sharply, getting up. “If you'd just let me handle it, I'd be fine.” he said, moving towards the entrance door.  


“No you won't! Will you stop pretending and just accept that you need help for once!” Sherlock shouted, grabbing his arm, swallowing hard as he could easily reach all the way around his wrist. He got up slowly, confronting John directly. “I'm done with the charade, John. This isn't just about you anymore. You're here for me and for our children. If I am able to look beyond my own interests for the sake of this family, then so, the _fuck_ are you!”  
That seemed to hit John square and he averted his gaze, that guilt back on his face. Sherlock was almost tempted to go and try the soft approach now, but he'd done that before and it hadn't done anything, so now, he would stand strong for his point. John mumbled something Sherlock didn't catch. “What was that?”  
  
“You're right..” The Alpha breathed again, more loudly this time. “I'll-”

  
“No. You're not going to make promises again. You always say you'll do something about this, but you never really do. Sit down and eat that portion on your plate.” Sherlock ordered and John, unwillingly, complied.  


  
  
When John finally lay down, Sherlock budged up against his back slowly, waiting for John to flinch away, but he didn't. Reassured, Sherlock slung his arm around his way too thin mate, nuzzling into his back. “

John, I'm not sorry for treating you like that. At the moment, all that's keeping you upright is your instinct to protect me. But I'm out of the hospital now. I'm back to our safe home. It's only a matter of days, maybe weeks before that instinct dies out to the calm again.”

  
“No. No, I'm glad you did that. Continue doing it, please.”  
  
  
“You're sure?”  
  
  
“Yes. You were right, I ceased living for myself the moment I bit you and I should start taking that responsibility.”  
  
  
Sherlock stared at the fabric of John's t-shirt for a second before moving up and kissing the back of his neck. “I love you..”

 

 


	20. I have to make this final breakthru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I'm sorry it took so long, but I'll spare you all the details from now on. Just read and enjoy.. I guess.

“You're looking better.”  
  
It was a small comment. Small and complimenting, but to John, there was a sour sting to it. He tried to ignore it, the conflict very visible on his face, but he couldn't see beyond the fact that he was barely halfway there. “Do you need help dressing?” he asked as he buttoned his cardigan, diverting the conversation to something else.  
  
“No, I'm fine.” Sherlock replied, pulling at his shirt to close it by the buttons. “It may be wise to shop for bigger clothing, though.” he remarked and, having managed to do the first few buttons up and seeing how the fabric stretched to actually show skin, opened the shirt again to grab a t-shirt instead.  
  
“It would have been wise to do so over a month ago.” John said rather curtly. Sherlock spun around to him, giving him the 'stop that' look that John knew all too well by now. But instead of turning back around or leaving a crude remark, the Omega cupped his face and kissed him lightly and John didn't know how he deserved this. “How do you love me so much?” he asked honestly, fighting a rush of tears because honestly, he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He was crumbling, _they_ were crumbling under all this weight and they knew, and that was that. And Sherlock seemed to keep acting as if it wasn't there, as if the cause didn't exist. The Alpha was surprised, honestly, that he'd held on for this long.

 

Sherlock looked at him with an expression so open, it was a little foreign even to John. “Don't you?”

 

John looked back up at him. Sherlock was already looking like a glowing pregnancy again and John was just 'looking better'. He'd gained a few pounds, yes and was out of the danger zone, but only just so. If and when the Alpha let his body out of its grip again, John would still not be well. They were all just numbers applied to the general public, not a specific body. “Honestly, Sherlock, right now I'm just... terrified.”  
  
Sherlock's face pinched up in suspicion. It wasn't the first time he'd pulled that face. It wasn't the first time he felt suspicious of John either. “That's to be expected. But you are on a good way. I'm glad to see you make progress.”

 

“Just.. What happened-”

 

“It wasn't your fault. It was not the first time I have been targeted and it won't have been the last. It's part of what we do, John. It was not your fault.” Sherlock said this as reassuringly as he could. He meant it.

 

John nodded, closing his eyes as he took and released a deep breath. “No, I.. I know that.” he said in a quick manner, still fighting with the truth of it. “But.. What you felt, your.. I felt that and it made feel like I was right there. Like I was the one doing that to you.” John's voice had become thin, so he stopped adding any more words. After a pause, in which Sherlock had almost interrupted him, he spoke up again, though. “He did rape you, didn't he?”

 

Sherlock knew, from how sure John sounded, that there was no point even trying to lie about it to make the Alpha feel better. “Yes.”

 

Sherlock said it very calmly and factual. John took a deep, calming breath against the rising level of rage inside him. “I could smell him all over you. I feel like I still can, sometimes.”

 

“You probably will until you reclaim me as yours.” As John merely pinched his lips, Sherlock laid a hand on his shoulder, speaking more softly. “We need to get going.”

 

John, eyes always averted, nodded. They took the last necessary steps to get ready and were on their way to Sherlock's specialist within a few, silent, minutes.

 

 

“Please take a seat. The doctor will be with you in a moment.” the assistant said, a big, fake smile on her face. Sherlock sat down on the bed and John sat next to him for the moment, holding his hand.  
  
Moments later, the woman in question entered the room, closing the door behind her immediately. “Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson! It's good to see you again- are you alright?” Doctor Field stopped in her tracks as she felt the thick air in the room. She quickly opened her files, reports from the hospital had been sent over and added to them. “Is your bond okay? I've read about your special relationship and that you took a strong blow.” she said concernedly. “Ah, yes, here. Are you two okay?”

 

“We're fine.” John answered and was immediately interrupted by Sherlock.

 

“How did you notice our discomfort?”   
  
“Ah, well. I might not look it, but I am also rather perfectly matched. I know the intensity when I feel it. People with no or ordinary relationships don't notice it, but we few, we are so sensitive to it, we can feel it on others. Once the bond really takes, we just know how couples really feel towards each other. You two are giving me reason to worry right now..” she concluded. She directed an inquiring look between the both of them until John spoke up.  
  
“It was just a big scare. And, although we know they've started growing again, there could still be something wrong. I guess we're both just a bit tense about that.” he spoke more softly than he usually would, earning himself a look from Sherlock, which he didn't return.

 

Dr Field considered them for a moment, unconvinced, but it wasn't her job, or right, to push them for answers on their private relationship. “Alright, let's make this quick and painless then, shall we?” She readied her equipment as John rose from the examination bed for Sherlock to lay down on it freely, but he stood by his side, hand resting on the edge over the Omega's head.   
“Alright, let's see. There's one.. two.. three... four.” she counted as she took pictures and marked them on the computer. John observed the marks indicating his pups' size and position within Sherlock. They were still four delicate little creatures, but beginning to crowd up the space. The estimations had been right, the growth spurts would start soon.

“Okay, so, here we have three healthy little babies,” with these words, their hearts sank simultaneously and Sherlock drenched of what little colour he had gained from recent nutrition. “They are just a tiny bit less than average, but it looks to me like that will balance within the next week or two. Now this one,” she dragged the stick over to where their worry lay within Sherlock's pelvis, “I can already tell you is not going to do just as well.” her face looked a professional shade of empathetic. “Do you see how the other three move about already? This one doesn't. It's slightly underdeveloped and while the body might catch up, I'm afraid it will be at least mildly mentally disabled.”

 

“But it will be healthy?” Sherlock asked, presently as ever.   
  
“I should expect so, yes.”   
  
It was all he needed to know. To Sherlock, that was all that mattered. Looking at John, though, it seemed that he was alone with that opinion. No. It just hadn't quite registered yet. John wasn't quite caught up. “John?”   
John just looked back at him with a blank expression. Sherlock frowned at him for a second, but decided to give John a minute. “What might be the outcome?”

 

“Well, that is difficult to say. For those who believe in it, this could be a cause for autism, but there's still not much reliable research on his. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you much on that matter, unless you want to offer yourself as a research subject.”

 

Sherlock shrugged. “I would have no objections as long as the safety of my children is ensured. Although, I suppose we ought to make such a decision together and I don't think we are quite ready for that.” If it was just about him, he'd have no qualms whatsoever to become a source of research information. Medicine was a kind of science. This was about more than just him, though, and they had other things to work through first.  
  
“I would also, at this point, like to check that everything is alright with your genitalia. I don't know and don't want to assume exactly what happened to you, but if you say you're not ready to-”

 

“I'm fine.” Sherlock clarified. He looked at her intently until she put up the stirrups. He stood and took off his trousers, refused the cloth as he thought it ridiculously ineffective, and removed his pants as well before laying back down and placing his legs.

 

“Alright. Let's see.. There's been some tearing, but it seems to have healed fine. The rest also seems to be in check..” she said, prodding him with gentle but professional touches. “Anything that's been troubling you?”

 

“I've been feeling a little nauseous quite often again. Other than that and an occasional migraine, nothing, no.”

 

“Hm, well, a migraine every now and then, as long as it doesn't feel 'wrong' to you, should be no issue. Nausea in the second trimester _is_ rather rare, but nothing to be concerned about. Omega pregnancies tend to have their quirks, but they make up for it by being generally a lot more stubborn and thick than beta pregnancies. It's harder to cause damage to you than to a Beta carrier _and_ my patients tend to say that the pregnancy is the best time in their lives. I wouldn't know about that, as I'm childless myself, but Omegas do seem to have a certain glow to them when with child. It seems to be very rewarding.” she said with a gentle smile. Her eyes were a little off. Sherlock spared her the deduction that danced on his tongue. She was weirdly pleasant and, considering his own experience with this matter, he guessed her infertility was not something she liked to be reminded of.

 

“It does have something irrationally... calming to it.” Sherlock replied, idly palming the sides of his belly.

 

“That's biological. Especially Omegas release a lot more of the so-called 'happy hormones' during pregnancy to encourage reproduction. A habit that makes you feel good, is a habit that you're prone to keep.”  
  
“I suppose.”

 

 

“We're going to have a disabled child.”  
  
“Yes, John. Is that an issue?”  
  
“No. No, I mean.. What if it's unhappy? It will get bullied at school..”  
  
“Why does _that_ matter?”  
  
“Victims of bullying aren't generally the happiest people, Sherlock.”  
  
“I was bullied. I turned out fine.”  
  
“No, you turned out awkward.”  
  
“As did you.”  
  
“Who says I wasn't bullied?”  
  
“I say that. Now, calm down, it will be fine. Disabilities are neither an automatic reason for bullying and unhappiness, nor are they necessarily life-threatening. Autism, she speculated. Autism isn't a bad thing.”  
  
“Can be very complicated to handle.”  
  
“John, you think I have Asperger's. That's a form of autism. You love me. Why would you not love your own child?”  
  
“Of course I'd love it!”  
  
“You're worried you'll fail.”  
  
“I.. Yes. Sherlock look at me. I'm... I'm not good. What if it stresses me out too much? What if I.. What if I shout at it? Or hit it?”  
  
“You won't. And if ever you did, I'd hit you twice as hard. So, you see; you won't.”  
  
“That's not really a statement that conveys a lot of trust, Sherlock. Essentially, you're saying that you expect me to fuck up and that, when I do, you'll hit me back.”  
  
“John, people aren't perfect. Stop thinking you could be. Yes, you will make mistakes. I will make mistakes, too. That is how we learn to do it right.”  
  
“Are you playing my morals?”  
  
“Someone has to. And besides, I'm feeling soppy, I'm pregnant, let me be that way.”  
  
“You know I love you. You know I love them. I just want them to become better humans than we are..”  
  
“John, if they have your heart and my mind, they will be the first heroes I'm willing to admit exist.”  
  
“We're rubbish.”  
  
“On our own, yes. I did drugs, you were suicidal. But look where we are now. We're expecting quadruplets, John. 5 months ago, I didn't even know I could get an erection and here I am, sentimental and pregnant with nearly a litter. And the worst part is, that I'm happy. Like this. I'm just irrationally content. And it feels wrong, it really does, my head constantly screams at me to change something, but I won't. Because, for once, I feel.. in place. Like I am right where I belong. So I'm not changing what's right, I'm changing what's wrong, even if I spent all my life building that, assuming _it_ was right. I don't even want to think about when it's over because this is the longest high I've ever been on and the fall is always tremendous.”  
  
“You do look good. I'll prepare lunch.”

And so John did. They ate; both of them. But what John ate for lunch he skipped at dinner. His stomach was turning itself upside down just looking at the meat in the pan and Sherlock didn't push him. They went about peacefully and calmly. They were sitting on the sofa, watching the telly and not watching at all. Sherlock had fallen asleep where he was leaning back against John, both of them propped up sideways so John could massage his lower back a little. The pups weren't very big or heavy yet, but one of them apparently had taken on such an unfortunate position, that it was pressing against Sherlock's spine. Massaging his muscles did little to ease the pain coming mainly from his bones, but it eased both their minds, so it was good enough for now.  
John was still rolling his knuckles against the slim back, his fingers exhausted by now, when he was beginning to feel really tired.

He yawned heartily and nudged Sherlock. “Let's get into bed, love.”  
  
Sherlock sat back up with a small, affirming noise and rubbed his eyes as he stood up, padding back to their shared bedroom.  
The brunet was under within seconds again and John made sure he was asleep before getting back up to leave the room, wide awake suddenly.   
His hand had been bothering him very subtly for some time now, but his leg just drove him mad. He knew it was just in his head, but the stiffness and the pain; sometimes he felt like it was just made to keep him awake. Tonight was a bad night again.  
He didn't know why it bothered him so much that they would be having a disabled child. He didn't think there was anything wrong with disabled people, why would there be? It just somehow made him feel weak, powerless. Like he'd failed as this pack's Alpha.  
He propped up an elbow on the arms of his chair and connected his shaking hand to his forehead, massaging it clumsily. His eyes began to burn suddenly and he fought back the tears drumming against his eyelids.   
  
“John?” Sherlock's hand on his shoulder and his voice startled him. He hadn't heard the Omega approach him.   
  
John hid his face by looking at his watch on the small table next to him. “Gee, Sherlock, what are you doing? Go back to bed.”  
  
Sherlock, apparently, caught on immediately. There was a strong wave of sadness rushing through to John. The tall Omega got down on his knees next to John, grasping his hand and looking up at him with big eyes. John didn't dare to look. The mere thought of Sherlock lowering himself in front of anyone, lowering his ego, was just not right. It reminded him of their shared heat and that hadn't been Sherlock he'd been with then. But Sherlock was adamant.  
“I really don't understand how all this is working. It's just.. not scientifically plausible to me how we can share our emotions with one another, but it's happening. You're breaking me with your sadness, John. You don't mean to, I am aware, but then let me help you. We need to get out of this somehow.”  
  
John, resigned, shook his head further away from his mate. “John.” the Omega insisted, and when John didn't react, he gently grabbed his chin and forced him to look at Sherlock.   
  
The sight of Sherlock's own sadness made his tears spill over. “I know. But I don't know how. I don't.. I can't do this any longer, Sherlock. I'm sorry, but I can't. I've been to war and I don't know how to be a mate to someone, let alone a father. I just fuck up left and right and you're stuck with me and _somehow_ this is all my fault and I am so, so sorry!”  
  
“No. No, you don't get to say sorry. You know well enough that none of this was your fault and you couldn't have made it any better than the way you did.”  
  
Sherlock let his hand fall from John's face and instead held his hand. “I know. But if I hadn't- I mean... Maybe you would never have been...”  
  
A thought struck Sherlock and his brow creased. “John, are you regretting our bond?”  
  
The question and, much more, the calm way Sherlock asked him, caught John off-guard. He looked his mate in the eye, as honest as honesty gets, he answered “yes.” Instead of a much expected look of hurt and disappointment, The Alpha found understanding on Sherlock's face. “Sometimes. Not because I don't love you, but because I keep asking myself whether or not you would have said yes if you'd fully known what you were doing. It was a wake moment, yes, but it wasn't clear. You never gave lawful consent.”  
  
“You did not rape me. I might have-. I might not have agreed to it all had I expected it. But I was the one who lured you in. Just because you're an Alpha, doesn't mean you can't get sexually assaulted, so actually, I would have been the one assaulting you, leading to your thinking I was receptive, which I was and.. It doesn't matter what way we play it out, John, we would always end up here. Illogical as it is, we're 'meant to be'. The kidnapping, that was a risk of the work. I wouldn't have needed to be pregnant for all that to happen. Although I am lucky it happened after I had lost my virginity to another Alpha because, otherwise, it might have had psychological impacts on me that I would deny, of course. We're not fine. But we can be. We _were_ fine. We just need to get back there. You, me and our four pups of which one just happens to turn out disabled.” There was a heavy pause in which they looked at each other, knowing. Still, it had to be said aloud. “I want this for us, John.”  
  
John's mouth twitched a little when Sherlock kissed his hand, looking at him expectantly. “You never answered me: why do you love me so much?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. “I don't know. You're not outstandingly smart or handsome. Sure, you've got confidence, which is very attractive and tolerance for the weirdest of situations and people. You are compatible with the work, which is much appreciated. But why I love you, I can't explain. I just do. And I did before. Sometimes, I regret this bond as well because I never got to tell you how I felt when you would still believe me one hundred percent. Then again, if all this hadn't happened, I might have never told you in the first place. I just love you because that's how I feel for you.”  
Somehow, that was exactly what John had wanted to hear. Sherlock lifted himself off the ground and climbed, or rather squeezed, into Jon's chair, his legs pressing between the Alpha's thighs and the armrests and they shared a kiss. The first proper, whole-hearted, sorted-out kiss since Sherlock had gone missing. It was going to be good _somehow_. They'd manage _somehow_. _Somehow_ was the only insurance they had for themselves. But it had always worked out for them, hadn't it?  
“I'm tired. I'll have a pee and be back to bed in a minute. Please be there.” Sherlock whispered, pecking his mate's lips one last time before getting up and going to the bathroom.  
  
Apart from relieving his barely-full bladder, he also emptied some contents of his almost-full stomach. Grateful John hadn't rushed in, but let him handle it himself, Sherlock brushed his teeth again and entered the bedroom, laying down next to John, who draped a hand over the growing belly on Sherlock's front. It felt like it would all turn out fine again. _Somehow_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I felt like naming this chapter differently, but as I was writing the last few paragraphs, this Queen song just started playing inside my head and I couldn't not pick that for a title.   
> Most of you probably don't even know who Queen were anyway..
> 
> Over with angst and back to the smut soon, I promise! I just... Had to have some plot in this story, you know?


	21. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all 269 Subscribers of this story: I would apologise for making you wait 5 months, but honestly, who would believe me? I wouldn't believe me because I'd be lying.  
> Anyway, I hope this very short chapter sort of makes up for it. Or maybe Sherlock and John make up (for it). You tell me - I've grown kinda numb to this story.
> 
> Honestly, I hate it.. There are a couple of plot points that I really do want to tackle (more kink than plot, actually, but I like to pretend that I'm somewhat of an author worthy of 475 kudos), but the in-betweens just don't want to be filled. Not to mention that, as this was my first step into this whole AU, Sherlock and John are so drastically OoC that I'd rather vomit than re-read what I have done so far.  
> Unless you guys are seriously interested in a future of this fic, I will give up somewhere in the next chapters. If you do, for whatever reason, want to keep this train going for it's intended destination, please, please, please leave ideas for the bridges. In the comments, on my tumblr as messages or asks (http://kinkmerighthererightnow.tumblr.com/) ANY way you like. Tell me if you want to be credited, and I will credit you.
> 
> Just, please, communicate with me, because this story is making me feel horrible and if I can't improve it, I can't keep it.

John was cooking some dinner. Sherlock had told him he was hungry for some steak and now John was cutting up vegetables for a salad to go with it.   
Sherlock was sitting on the sofa in the living room, bored. But also equally craving more than just some steak. Curse his hormones, but with his libido having come to life only five months ago and being immediately accustomed to near constant intercourse, these past weeks with John not touching him had him going slightly mad. He was growing more restless each day and his desire rarely ever died out. Now, he was internally horny even when they were having fights.  
He pushed himself forward on the cushions, stabilising himself as he got to his feet. As promised, month five had been giving him growth spurts that had slowly increased, not only in frequency, but also in severity. His belly was a telltale bulge.  
He padded into the kitchen, stopping beside John, who briefly smiled up at him before concentrating on his knife again. Sherlock tried an innocent approach that could be mistaken for an accident, bumping his middle against John's side. The Alpha didn't react.   
Sherlock huffed internally. A straight approach would get him nowhere, he'd have to lure the Alpha in, but that was an easy thing to say and a near impossible thing to achieve; when John was shut down on something, there was no way of getting him there. In fact, that was one of the most basic rules of manipulation, John just happened to be very clearly set on what he would and would not do.  
He had to try.  
“Might want to prepare a little more than usual. The pups have grown quite well in the last week.”  
  
“Already am.” John replied, scraping the bell pepper from his cutting board into a bowl.  
  
Sherlock watched him lay out the lettuce in front of himself. “They're getting quite big now. And heavy.”  
  
John nodded, cutting the lettuce into squares. “I've noticed. That's good, they're back on their schedule.”  
  
The Omega frowned, John wasn't responding at all. “Come on, John. Have sex with me!” he said in a pleading voice. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was getting frustrated.  
  
“Sorry, Sherlock.” was all the answer he got. Angry, Sherlock stormed off into their bedroom, closing the door and sulking on the bed.  
He fell asleep despite himself and woke up to John gently caressing his shoulder, saying his name. “Dinner's ready, you need to eat.”   
  
Sherlock groaned a little. “Bring it here.” he demanded, not opening his eyes.  
  
“I was hoping you'd eat in the kitchen, with me.” John gently asked, pushing back some stray curls covering Sherlock's closed eyes.  
  
“I don't want to get up.” Sherlock simply replied and it seemed to be enough. John got off the bed and left the room. The Omega stretched and lazily sat up in bed. John returned with two plates. Sherlock was happy to see both plates had at least a reasonable amount of food on them, though it wasn't hard to guess which one was for him.   
John offered him the plate, but Sherlock merely opened his mouth. The Alpha didn't react, although Sherlock swore he'd seen a little smile on his lips as he drew back the food, placed his own on the mattress beside him and cut the first bit of steak. He fed it to Sherlock, who kept the fork inside his mouth just a little longer than strictly necessary, keeping eye-contact with the Alpha. John calmly retrieved the fork and cut into his own meat, taking a bite while Sherlock was chewing.  
With every forkful, Sherlock's efforts, and innuendos, got more obvious. He was just suggestively licking the thing for ten seconds after having cleaned it and John was just watching him, apparently unimpressed. The Omega let his posture fall. “You were so excited for me to grow big with this pregnancy. Is it not what you expected? Do I look disgusting to you now?”  
  
John looked back at him with a shocked expression. “What?!”  
  
“You won't touch me at all. You aren't even reacting to any sort of approach I try on you. You keep telling me that you love me, so, naturally, I have to assume that my physique is putting you off.” Sherlock explained, rather angrily.  
  
It was John's turn to frown. “No,” he quickly put the cutlery down. “no, not at all. Sherlock- no!” he emitted a deep sigh. “I do _not_ find you disgusting. Not even in the slightest. You are.. You are breathtakingly beautiful and you're getting prettier by the day. You are beyond desirable.”  
  
“Then _why_ won't you touch me?!”  
  
“Because I can't. It doesn't feel right. I have lost every right to touch you when I failed protecting you like a worthy Alpha should. It just feels like I'm.. forcing myself onto you..”

  
“But you're not! I am practically _begging_ you for it!” the Omega exclaimed desperately. He moved, taking their plates from John and placing them on the night stand behind him, got on all fours and climbed into John's lap. “Please.” He lay his head into the crook of John's neck, pecking the skin gently. “Please,” he sighed, licking over John's carotid artery, “I want you. John, I want you so bad.” he rubbed his hardening cock against John's thigh for proof. He heard his mate's breath stutter, his hands moving to his hips. When he looked, John's eyes were closed, but his hands were pushing him away. “John.”  
  
“I'm sorry.” he said between breaths, opening his eyes to look back at Sherlock apologetically.  
  
“No, please, just..” Sherlock tried to insist, moving back in to kiss John, who pulled back.

 

 

 

It happened multiple times. Sherlock kept trying to initiate, but John turned him down continuously. One time he got as far as to lay atop John, rubbing his belly against him firmly. John had pushed him away, laboured breathing, shaking hands and an impressive erection tenting his pyjama bottoms. It was a soldier's determination and willpower. It would have been arousing, had it not been used to stop the same.

 

 

“I could take you.” Sherlock suggested three days later, completely out of the blue.  
  
John looked up from his noodles. Perplexed, he asked back “what?” through his mouthful.   
  
“Sex, John, I could take you sexually.” Sherlock elaborated in a manner that was supposed to tell John he was being especially dim today. “You have problems taking me because you think I wouldn't want it, but if I were to take you, I would be in full control and not forced to do anything I didn't want.”  
  
“I'd still.. enjoy it.”  
  
“What, so now you're not allowed to enjoy sex?!”  
  
“No, I just mean that it would feel like you're doing it for my sake.” the Alpha replied, lowering his gaze, disguised by poking at his food.  
  
Sherlock was boiling across from him, he could feel it through their bond, if he was blind enough not to see it on the man's face. “Good God, John, you are behaving like an idiot! I WANT SEX!” he boomed, slamming his fist on the table. John barely flinched, however there was an unmistakeable squeak coming from the living room. Mrs Hudson's footsteps on the stairs were expectedly quick in their retreat.  
John wasn't looking at him when he apologised. “Do you even still know what you're apologising for?” Sherlock asked, evidently doing his best to sound softer than he was feeling. He was rubbing a hand against his belly as if apologising to their pups for the outburst. Ironic, really, since they were the ones making him so irrational in the first place.  
  
“For being so horrible, maybe?” came back as a reply, all defences up and perceivable in every fibre of the Alpha's being.  
  
It was a challenge Sherlock was too pregnant to accept. He wanted to settle this pointless spinning in circles. “Can we at least try it?”

 

 

That is how, that night, Sherlock ended up pushing himself atop John, a fair make out session from their usual sleeping positions continuing. Sherlock could tell John was willing himself to relax, which, in turn, only made him all the more stiff, and not in the good way. ”Relax,” he whispered as he lowered his head kissing the spot on John's neck that was the equivalent of an Omega's scent gland. It didn't have the anatomy of an Omega's spot, but great sensitivity was a remnant of human evolution; not to mention that John really enjoyed the back of his neck being kissed.   
Sherlock pushed a hand under John's t-shirt, savouring the feeling of his softer middle, giving a soft sigh as he attempted to rub his crotch against John, but ended up pressing his belly against him instead, eliciting a small moan from John.   
  
His hands, though moved to stop him. “I can't.” he panted, almost sounding like he was scared. “I can't. I'm- Sherlock, I'm sorry, I am, I can't-”  
Sherlock stopped him by pressing his lips against John's. He shifted his weight, drawing a leg back over John's hips. John fought to stop him separating them. “No. No, I'm sorry, please. Don't..”  
  
“Shh.” Sherlock whispered back to him, slowly taking his body to the empty side of the bed. “I know you are growing as desperate as me, but unlike you, I can't hold back any more. You are going to watch.” the Omega explained and John's eyes widened.  
As the Alpha looked on in shock, Sherlock positioned himself comfortably, but so that John could see what he was doing. On his back, reaching around his belly with both hands, he pushed down his pants, which John helped him discard, and then slid his hands back up what little of his thighs he could still touch, bringing them to his cock. He pumped a few times, massaging his balls to encourage his arousal, then brought one hand down, brushing over his perineum and touching the ring of muscles to his opening. He sighed luxuriously, like he was tasting water the first time after days without a drop.  
He circled the area, but was too impatient. John watched hungrily as he pushed one finger in, his sex seemingly pulling it further inside, hungry. The Alpha looked up and saw Sherlock's belly, standing taller than his cock, and he palmed his own erection. He craved to touch his mate, but there was this feeling building up again where it had just died down. That throbbing, that sickness. Sherlock's distress. Another Alpha pushing into his mate. It became John forcing himself on Sherlock, making him cry as he begged him to stop.  
“John.” an even voice addressed him. Sherlock. He wasn't even looking at John, continued touching himself. “Whatever you're doing, stop it, or shut me out. I'm kind of enjoying myself here, I don't need your distress.”  
John did. He stopped. His hand fell away from his softening cock.  
He looked mack up at Sherlock, who had moved on to two fingers. John swallowed, his body confused, half-aroused, half-disturbed. It wasn't until Sherlock moaned lowly, that John's mind pushed aside to give room to his desire again.  
Sherlock said his name again, but this time, he sounded distant, his name a melody rather than a call. As the Omega started rolling his hips, John understood that he was fantasising.   
His third finger rose to the challenge and teased his hole. His left hand seemed undecided on whether to settle on his belly or his dick. As Sherlock began working himself on three fingers, hitting his prostate every now and then, John budged forward, helping his wandering hand by splaying one of his own over it in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Sherlock stilled for a second, then, as if they'd agreed on it, his hand slipped away to work his cock, moaning as John began to touch, to feel around his middle.   
The Alpha's breathing was laboured, marvelling at the enticing beauty of his undeserved mate.  
Sherlock himself was panting, clearly working close to the edge now. John gently let his hands roam up to the centre of the globe that was forming on his mate, eyes fixed on the Omega's face now. He dipped a thumb into the indent of Sherlock's navel and he shouted John's name, semen shooting up against his tummy and John's chin.   
  
When Sherlock eventually opened his eyes, recovering from his orgasm, a flood of relief rushing from him into John, the Alpha looked wrecked, spent and utterly in awe. Sherlock reached out and caressed his cheek, wiped the cum off his chin.  
“If I had known that masturbating would shake you up again, I'd have done this weeks ago.”  
  
John still wasn't reacting properly. He stared on like he was in a trance. He blinked, shook his head minimally and finally spoke. “I want you.” he said and Sherlock's face lit up in a joy John had rarely ever seen so genuine on him.  
  
“Tomorrow?” Sherlock asked hopefully. “I'm tired.”  
  
John nodded speechlessly. He leaned over him and kissed him lightly. Then he kissed him again; firmly. “Thank you.”   
It was the best 'I love you' Sherlock had heard from him in weeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know most people don't read long notes, but it is of great importance that you do read the note at the beginning.


End file.
